


Skyfall

by thefangirlofhp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'oh your men are too emotional', BAMF James Potter, BAMF Remus Lupin, BAMF Sirius Black, Gen, I write tender men and soft friendships because fuck toxic masculinity, James Potter Lives, James Potter had a little sister, James Potter is a Good Friend, Minerva McGonagall is the parent we need but don't deserve, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black Needs a Hug, Try counting the amount of fucks I give: 0, everyone is a BAMF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlofhp/pseuds/thefangirlofhp
Summary: "This is the endHold your breath and count to tenFeel the earth move and thenHear my heart burst againFor this is the end."'Fell things are crawling from the grave, Albus, and young Harry Potter may not be the only Potter around.'
Relationships: Harry Potter & James Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**_How deeply are you sleeping or are you still awake?_**  
 ** _A good friend told me you've been staying out so late_**  
 ** _Be careful, oh, my darling, oh, be careful what it takes_**  
 ** _From what I've seen so far, the good ones always seem to break._**  
________________________________________________________

  
Ever had the feeling you were being stabbed right in the heart? As if a hole was left there that simply can't be filled again, despite the laughter, the humour and the smiling. I would invite you to cautiously imagine that hole duplicated, enlarged and impossibly greatly infected.

Ever loved someone, or thought you did, so much that it hurt to even spend a second without them, no matter the ridiculousness of the situation? The very idea of your life going on without them was ludicrous? Once again, try to imagine spending the rest of your life without them.

You wouldn't want to.

Ever felt you were utterly alone, despite the fact there were people around you keeping you company? There is something to be said about loneliness; most can survive it, though few would thrive to their full potential with it. Imagine living alone for the rest of your life, alone and impossibly lonely.

It would seem an easy feat, but I encourage you not to believe so.

Imagine being stabbed in the heart multiple times, losing the one you thought you couldn't live a second without for the rest of your life, and living all alone for the rest of eternity.

Humans are a curious thing; they can almost survive anything and yet a broken heart, loneliness and grief would be their Achilles heel.

________________________________________________________

  
Some presumed he had recovered, however one can recover from years of unjust imprisonment in Hell on Earth. Others said he went mad with grief, as one would when guilt was their most frequent companion. However, no one could possibly know, but for a small few that most of were dead, that Sirius Black would never be the same again; when losing pieces of yourself, your heart and your soul throughout the years it is an impossible feat to seek to recover them, you can only learn to live with the remaining pieces and hope you'll see your end with whatever you have left.

His jokes were an insulting shadow of his comedic pieces. His laughter had become bitter and a short living thing; that was under the presumption that someone or something would manage to make him laugh. He had gradually become more bitter and restless, and although fourteen years had passed to the day his life had met its downfall, he could forget nothing. It was the burden of guilt; everything was worse in his head.

Of the many tragedies that struck his now wilted life, losing James Potter –a brother in all but blood, Sirius would always thank God for that- would always remain the highlight of the travesty of his existence.

On the day that would mark the fourteenth anniversary of his friends' murder, it was only expected that his miserable mood would take a darker turn. Halloween, a holiday dedicated to remembering the dead; saints and martyrs, was a time he found himself unusually quiet. Not that he spoke much, but on a day such as that even his thoughts would be silenced and the only noise echoing in the lonely and dark home of his ancestors would come from the hippogriff in his mother's room keeping him company.

For a brief moment, Sirius risked drawing back the curtains of the room to catch a glimpse of the children running along the streets, all dressed up for Halloween with their treats and cheerfulness. His father detested the Muggle children who ran the streets on Halloween, but Sirius loved watching them; as a child locked up inside with his brother, and as an adult locked up inside in hiding with his guilt.

He hadn't always understood what Halloween was all about, until Mrs Potter explained it to them one summer of their fourth year at Hogwarts and ever since, he didn't know what to feel in regards to the holiday but it wasn't excitement most certainly.

_"It's the time in the year dedicated to remembering the dead, including saints martyrs, and all the faithful departed._ _"_

Well for him, he didn't need a day to remind him of the dead. The dead were always there with him, dead people he'd killed clung to his heels every time he walked, piling up and up until he can't walk anymore. The most prominent of the dead he would always see, day and night, would be those he killed unintentionally.

That day, on the bleak night of Halloween with only Buckbeak the hippogriff keeping him company, his mind chose to entertain the darkened memories of the night that many marked their calendars to celebrate.

He'd just finished a mission for Dumbledore, something about the old man that night had set him on edge but he'd paid the notion no thought. There were few things that set him on edge really mattered; and not much mattered then. Sirius was looking forward to handing in his report and going home to the Potters' household. Back then he couldn't go back to his place, every room held a memory that he couldn't yet face and so the Potter's couch quickly became his bed. Usually, he would report with his partner, but he'd gotten him killed too a few months ago and now all his missions were solo. James used to go with him, but James was definitely out of the question; the man was too important to risk having him killed.

Sirius found Hogsmead odd on his way to Hogwarts. The village was brimming with life, something odd in their time, and he eyed every stranger and familiar face with the wariness of a mistrustful hound. He nearly pulled his wand on a singing drunk wishing him a merry good night, and after the fourth cheerful face he saw, it was more important to find out what was going on than reporting to Dumbledore.

Madam Rosmerta was sobbing in The Three Broomsticks on her bar, a sharp contrast to her whole pub was filled with strangers celebrating something so obvious but so out of Sirius's mind. When she caught sight of his wary sharp face, his hand fixed on his wand, and his dark clothes her eyes filled with tears and she tightly embraced him.

"What's going on?" he muttered quietly, casting dark looks around them. The woman was shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius. I just heard. I'm so sorry."

"What?" he repeated sharply, drawing her back tightly to glare firmly at her. His heart sank as his paranoid mind drew up even more dark scenarios. "What are you sorry about?"

Her face paled drastically. "You haven't heard? You-Know-Who's dead-" his brows furrowed in deep confusion "-James Potter's son killed him. Harry-"

"Harry's one," Sirius stated softly to the distressed woman. Had someone slipped something in her drink? "Better people tried. I doubt a baby killed the worst wizard in our time. Rose, have some water and clear your head."

"No, Sirius, it's true. He, _He_ , went to their house. He- I'm so sorry-" she burst into tears. "But Sirius, they're dead. James and Lily are dead. He killed them. I'm so sorry."

Screw Dumbledore and his report, he was getting to the bottom of this. With a determined but terrified feeling in his heart, he apparated straight to Godric's Hollow, terrified that he wouldn't find Harry and James playing with smoke and eating candy.

It was needless to say, but he didn't.

A sharp nibble on his hand broke through his dark thoughts, and his thin hand automatically pet Buckbeak's head. Sighing, Sirius rested his head in his palm, going to sit with the hippogriff. He'd become a companion for Sirius's dark moods which were many, and the beast could immediately detect them.

Sirius wondered if Remus would swing by to share in his miserable state, but doubted so; his friend hadn't shared a single thought in regards to what tore them to shreds for the past fourteen years, why would he now?

Sirius was a man who shouldn't be left alone with his thoughts- his friends used to perfectly understand that in past years. A Sirius left alone was a ticking bomb, and though in their lighter years the bomb had been a prank, a trick, a devilish ritual, an attempt to summon the Devil or a map that revealed everyone's whereabouts now the ticking bomb was taking its time and when it explodes, Sirius would only hope no one he loved was around.

The clock struck midnight, and he found himself wishing that James was alive. Not healthy, happy, thriving- just alive. Breathing, awake, alive- just to give him something to dedicate himself to. A partner in crime, a partner in life, a partner in time.

________________________________________________________________

  
Being at Hogwarts had always felt to him like being home, him deciding so because it was the closest thing he could identify with the word, but that year he was feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life. For Harry, having the pulsing need for a comforting responsible figure was part of his identity as a young man, and the only comfort he could find was one drawn from the picture of his parents beside his bed as he imagined them taking control. Not for the first time, his mind entertained the thought, mad as it was that they were alive.

What wouldn't he give to live part of that? Mrs Weasley was the closest thing to a mother he had come across, and it made him yearn so greatly for a slice of that life. He'd heard his father was a jokester, a great man, one who wore a broad grin daily but what would James Potter have to say about the inflicted torture on Harry's hand?

_I must not tell lies._

Would his mother fuss? Would she grow angry? Harry wondered how she'd appear when she was angry, the closest thing he could picture was an angry Mrs Weasley.

Was that all he'd have of his parents? An impression of others who were nothing but kind to Harry enough to make him see any kind figure as a parental one?

The truth, ugly and terrible as it was, Harry often asked why. Why him, why his parents, why, why, why. Truth was, he was becoming angrier; at Pettigrew for betraying his parents, at Voldemort for murdering them, at the whole universe for existing the way it did. There was a churning hot concoction of rage brewing in the pit of his stomach and he feared what it would do.

________________________________________________________________

  
Remus used to go days without sleep.

His friends had joked more often than he could count on him running on purely nothing but air when he had the objective. Sirius often raided their dormitory, searching for Remus's so-called 'drugs' that were never found, Remus liked to pay it off as chocolate but no one ever bought it.

Thinking about it now, decades after that life, he realized he'd simply been happy. The kind of happy that wouldn't let him sleep, the kind that made him restless and eager not to miss a moment of his life, for a brief period of time he didn't favour sleep simply because at last his reality was better than his dreams. Many of their ingenious ideas were born from his 'Beast-Mode' state that feeding Remus chocolate was an honorary chore his friends took turns to do.

Being a werewolf no longer swallowed him up whole, his friends made him feel it was a natural part of himself that made up who he was so that when the full moon came he met it with a steady heart and supportive company. There was something curious about the way they openly spoke of it, sometimes driving him mad with worry that someone would hear but his friends were renown for their lies that people no longer believed what they heard from them.

Now all he can think of is how tired he is.

He longed for the time where going to sleep was easy, was quick and restful if swift. All he does in his spare time is lie in bed half the night, staring at the ceiling and counting all the damned sheep in the world, wishing for sleep that would cure his exhausted soul. He tried reading, everything and anything, but his mind was too mushed up to make sense of anything and it seems all he wants to do is sit and do nothing, waste away slowly until standing up became painful.

Sometimes, when the curse takes him he'd be trapped in thinking how it all went wrong. What he should have done, what he did wrong, what he should have thought, over and over and over until lycanthropy isn't the only thing making him lose his mind. When it happens, Remus wonders how long it would take for him to waste away in this state. It's a game he is well acquainted with, but not one he's happy to play.

Talking to Sirius crossed his mind more than once, more than a dozen of times, but there was a broken bridge between them that Remus didn't know how to repair, destroyed by James's unexpected murder.

Of all the people Remus imagined killed in their early twenties, his dearest friend James was the last. James was so full of life, was always so _alive_ , so present, so aware of everything around him, so caring, so attentive, so eager to live and to love and be loved that he'd created an unrealistic reality for Remus that any life without him was a bad dream one needed to wake up from. James was always up at the crack of dawn and down late in the night, more than eager to make the most of the whole day.

James was passionate. About everything.

When James became angry it was in a passionate way, when he loved it was in a zealous way, his tears, his excitement, his sentiment- Remus had never met anyone in his life like him; everything came so sharply clear with him that it came as a shocking contrast to his friends' moderately different attitudes. Of all four of them, James was the least messed up and Remus often wondered if he would have been like that had his upbringing been a little kinder.

Even his death was huge. The bastard wouldn't leave Remus's mind even after he'd died, even after Remus organized their tearful funeral where none of their friends attended, even after Remus said goodbye to that life, even after Remus was dragged back into it.

He heaved a sigh and rubbed his scarred face with his hands. He had to get a hold on himself, he had to get himself on track- they had a dark lord going after world domination on the loose and James's offspring just _had_ to be in the middle of it. He owed it to James who'd broken laws at the age of thirteen to help Remus, he owed it to James who saved Remus from being a murderer, he owed it to dead James who had only asked one thing of him;

_"When I'm gone-_ **_if_ ** _I'm gone, look after Harry for me. Please."_

________________________________________________________________

  
Curious things; human nature, magic, destiny, prophecies and a determination that death couldn't stop.

Under the ground, a pair of hazel eyes eased open. 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Soldier keep on marchin' on** _   
**_Head down til the work is done_ **   
**_Waiting on that morning sun._ **   
**_Head in the dust, feet in the fire_ **   
**_L_ ** **_ abour on that midnight wire. _ **   
_ **You got nowhere to run.** _

________________________________________________________________

  
There can be no possible word in the English language that can explain what was going on through his head when he opened his eyes to have nothing change; it was dark in his head, it was darker still with his vision.

For many moments, one could only presume how long, James Potter laid there in complete silence and stillness; waiting, assessing, wondering. His breath escaped him in faint whistles as his pair of lungs got used to breathing once more and resumed working. The only sound he could hear was one that accompanied his faint breathing; the beating of his heart.

Soon, his mind joined the race and his senses sharpened as blood pumped through his veins and woke up the sleepy cells of his body. He felt stiff, as if he'd been laying down on hardwood for hours upon hours.

The questions then began; what, where, how and who? Questions that need answering, and answers that were far away for now.

He moved. An arm broke from the death-like grip of his other hand and it soon dawned on him that his movement was restricted by small space. He'd never been claustrophobic but there was only so little comfort one could find from tight spaces that threatened to squeeze your oxygen out.

His mind threatened to shut down and his shaking hand stilled as he squeezed his eyes shut, and drew in sharp breaths through his clenched teeth. He couldn't afford to panic now. Why? He didn't know. He just couldn't.

His name was James Henry Potter, he was born on 27th of March, his wand was an eleven-inch mahogany, he was pure-blooded.

His name was James Henry Potter. He was a Gryffindor.

His name was James Henry Potter.

Quickly he groped about, to find his wand clutched in his sleeping left hand. He calculated that he'd have a few minutes before he would suffocate from lack of air. As he fumbled he cast his thoughts back, back before the quiet darkness of a short sleep turned into a long one, and back before his dreams, and back before his musings. Back to when he was awake.

He had a wife and son. Lily and Harry. James was alarmed and panicked. There'd been a big blast that sent their door off its hinges. Voldemort. How? Who knew, it wasn't important. He had to get out of here.

If the suspicion growing in his mind would turn out to be true, he was buried deep under the ground. How deep were graves? Could he blast everything off him? What had the pastor from the church told him about the graves in Godric's Hollow? They put bells so that whoever was buried alive could let people know they've made a mistake, didn't they? Right?

He would have to be quick, he reasoned with himself. Blast it all off and levitate anything that might fall on him. Quickly, he blasted the lid of his coffin off him and for few precious seconds the sky appeared before his eyes; starry, dark and eerily quiet. The scenery disappeared with dirt falling back on him that he was quick to levitate and send over the top.

Cold air burned down his throat as he gasped for air, and the chilliness of the weather struck through his clothes. He sat up, glanced at what he was wearing and his dry mouth highlighted its state.

His black funeral robes.

He'd worn those to his Dad's funeral, then Dorcas's, and then Remus's Mum's, and then- well the list went ever on.

He climbed out of his grave, the question in his head going on and on and on. _How? How? How? How?_

When he climbed out, his heart fell; he really was in a graveyard. When he looked down, there was another coffin apparent under the dirt next to his and his blurry eyes were quick to water. _What? What? What? What?_ His freshly working lungs began racing to catch up with the air they were taking and he was quickly losing control over himself. There could be only one person buried with him and it wasn't a child's coffin.

He stumbled to his feet, a sort of disbelief that kept him going in his hazy state. If it was Lily buried with him, it meant something happened to their boy. Had Voldemort gotten to Harry? There was a gravestone but he couldn't bear reading and yet he had to know. One answer would be granted.

He tried to say the words, but his lips felt glued together and his throat was immensely dry. He thought them instead;

_Accio glasses._

They whizzed right to his hand, and his shaking limbs put them on; a once mindless action took him power and a forceful will to do. When his vision somewhat cleared, his gaze fell on the gravestone and read the names.

Him and Lily.

This was real.

He read the gravestone over and over until his eyes watered and he desperately wished for more to come but there was none his body could give; in his heart was a tight feeling that weighed his chest down but no relief could be found in spilt tears.

There was a nagging thought in the back of his head, something he knew he had to do; something that would explain his waking, the reason he'd escaped the dreamless silence at last.

There was no mention of Harry on their gravestone and that was the cruellest comfort he could find in his state. Lily's name on that grave felt as bleak and meaningless as a history textbook, and he read the gravestone once more for confirmation but he knew already, Harry was not dead.

Harry was not dead.

With the feeble strength of a soldier who had nothing else to lose but his life and the pitiful physical strength of one who'd been fighting for far too long, James pushed himself off the ground, his hands trembling and his body quivering. Another voiceless thought and the tip of his wand lit up; giving him a clearer view of his surroundings. When he glanced at his hands he was taken back by the very pale thin skin that covered a skeleton of a hand, and running a hand over his arm gave him insight that the muscles that once covered his limbs were no longer there.

While he stood in the cemetery, his dreams came back to him. The most recent of them all would be a graveyard, unlike this, and a duel; there was Voldemort and his son, Harry. He remembered his son desperately needing his help and he had.

Harry was alive, he knew that clearly. Harry was alive and so was Voldemort and his son needed him.

 _Right_ , James thought as he breathed the cold November air through his nose. _Alright._

He needed to know how long he'd been gone. Harry's location would depend on it. Glancing at their ruined grave, with a wave of his wand and all was restored as it was.

Walking through the streets of Godric's Hollow was a task that proved to be challenging. He wasn't looking for people to recognize him yet there were people casting him strange looks, some seemed terrified. He purposefully ignored their destroyed house,

The Daily Prophet he found in a bin told him the date was the 31st of October 1996. Fourteen years, then. Harry should be at Hogwarts. Was Dumbledore still Headmaster?

He had to think, he had to plan and he needed an excuse. But first, he needed to sit down.

________________________________________________________________

  
Dumbledore was just about to change his robes when Fawkes arrived in a flash and left once more, leaving behind him parchment on his desk. Bathilda Bagshot's spiderweb-like handwriting bore the most peculiar message.

_Dark things are crawling out of the grave, Dumbledore, young Harry Potter might not be the only Potter around. I suggest you come take a look._

The old man took his time reading it carefully, and when the doubt finally settled in he swept to his feet, sent Professor McGonagall an instructive message and Disapparated straight out of his office.

Godric's Hollow was windy this time of the year and extremely cold but it was just as he remembered it; hallow, bleak and eerily terrifying. There were many memories he could find in the village of ancient magical families and only one was he interested in. There was no sleep that could reawaken the dead, that he was absolutely sure of, and he wondered if the ministry officials could have made a mistake when identifying the dead bodies of the Potter family. Still, the Unforgivable curse was unforgivable for a reason, and the Killing Curse could not be repelled by whatever protection spell.

Yet young Harry was the boldest exception, challenging such notion.

Arriving in front of the graveyard Dumbledore frequented, he was met the everyday bleak grief dead people resting brought with them. Lily and James Potter's grave stood as it was, beautiful and haunting- an everyday reminder of the sacrifice the young couple had to make for their child, for the future of the whole wizarding world. Few people Dumbledore greatly respected, and fewer still were ones he constantly thought of. He touched the earth before their gravestone and was taken back by the soft and fresh state of the soil. It was not the hardened soil that had settled for fourteen years over their grave. The soil was freshly toyed with.

He glanced around him and found no signs that someone had been here recently. His feet took him out of the graveyard and walked the streets of Godric's Hollow. Its occupants often gestured frantically in directions, but none would speak of what they saw or what they were gesturing him to.

Soon enough, he happened on a bench before a short wall of a house. He could see out of the corner of his eye someone watching from the shadows and presumed it was one of the numerous lookouts he had in his employ but what was more interesting to him was the person seated on the bench quietly.

"Good evening," said Dumbledore lightly, stepping closer, his hand clutching his wand in his sleeve discreetly.

The man with the bowed head remained silent.

"I would attempt to mask my intention upon coming here, but it is very late and the people are worried," he continued on. "I don't remember seeing you around. Where do you come from?"

Still no answer.

"Forgive me, of course, my name is Albus Dumbledore-"

In a flash, the man had jumped from the bench, wand flung out before him and a spell cast wordlessly. It took Dumbledore no effort to block the stunning spell and was met with another one he blocked yet again; his opponent was quick and armed with a frantic paranoia of a street fighter that gave him an advantage over the old man; Dumbledore was met with a powerful spell that sent him flying into the ground.

His opponent was wide-eyed, breathless, very thin and extremely pale.

And so heart-breaking familiar.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Dumbledore, eh?" came the very hoarse croak from his opponent, his wand held high. " _Prove it_."

In a second, Dumbledore's phoenix Patronus was flying before him in all its glory and pride before he dismissed it. He stood up carefully and dusted himself. His opponent lowered his wand.

"I believe it's your turn."

He hesitated but a Patronus was cast all the same; the familiar large stag stood as tall as its caster, head held high, antlers climbing ambitiously high.

"Impossible," whispered Dumbledore softly. He'd seen the Patronus first hand before on many occasions and knew it when he saw it. There could be no doubt but there was all the doubt. " _James?_ "

The once faithful man full of confidence and strength seemed a shadow of himself. His black robes hung off his frame in a way none of his clothes had before, and his face was a hollow echo of its handsome memory; skin pale, thin, unhealthy, _dead_.

"Where's Harry?"

"My dear fellow you were _dead_ ," the eyes were what haunted him the most; once bright and full they held nothing of a touch of life now. "It's been fourteen years."

"I know."

James painfully reminded him of the way Sirius had developed in Azkaban; both looked spent, stretched thin, exhausted, melted but determined with a fixed goal.

_Sirius._

"Come with me to Hogwarts, I'll explain everything. This changes... everything, really. Much happened in your absence."

"I don't care."

"James," Dumbledore tread softly. "Others do. Your friends, your family."

"Family?" came the quiet scoffing response carried by a voice that hadn't been used for years upon years. "I need to see Harry."

"It'll be a shock. Allow me to help you break it to him."

Those dark eyes seemed torn and desperate.

"Let Sirius and Remus help. This is not an everyday happening."

"I need Harry to be safe," whispered the father. "That's it."

"He is. The safest he can be; at Hogwarts," Dumbledore assured him in a gentle voice, stepping closer to James. "You need help, and you need to recover."

James looked down at himself and breathed in shakily. "I trusted you once."

"Did I fail you?"

The man shook his head. "I did," his voice sounded choked and strangled. "I did."

"Come with me. Madam Pomfrey will see to you, Sirius and Remus will look after you... James, trust me as you once did."

The once presumed dead man seemed to give in as his hand dropped and he nodded. Dumbledore took the few steps between them and grabbed James's arm, to be taken back by his long fingers wrapping around the limb easily.

"It will be alright, my fellow."


	3. Chapter 3

_**And I never minded being on my own** _   
_**Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home** _   
_**To be where you are** _   
_**But even closer to you, you seem so very far** _

  
James lasted two minutes in Dumbledore's office before his eyes drooped and slowly tipped towards the land of the unconscious once more. Remarkable as the occasion was, Dumbledore had no intention of letting James die –not again- at all. Harry would never forgive him.

Professor McGonagall received the shock of her life when she answered the call to the headmaster in the hospital wing to find her dead favourite pupil very much alive and being treated to by Madam Pomfrey who had never looked so pale.

"What is the meaning of this, Albus?" she whispered in a faint voice, eyes never leaving that face, that _face_ , so thin and gaunt. "How is this possible?"

"The answer to that, my dear, is not within my possession. I'm afraid only Mr Potter can answer our questions."

"But Albus- it's been _fourteen_ years," Minerva stressed. "If ever, why now? This goes against the very basic understanding of our universe."

"Then there is something we've terribly misunderstood," answered the old man softly, his gaze fixed on the man lying on the hospital wing half-conscious as Madam Pomfrey diagnosed him.

"Is this really him, Albus?" came the choked question from the matron.

"I believe so."

"Potter won't believe himself," McGonagall's lips shakily drew back into a quivering smile of disbelief. "The poor boy- how will you tell him? And Black-Lupin! This changes everything, doesn't it, Albus?"

"Indeed it does," replied Dumbledore carefully. "We need to take our next footsteps wisely. Poppy are you able to treat him?"

"It's nothing serious," replied the matron in a soft disbelieving voice, laying a hand over James' forehead. "Dehydration, lack of nourishment, but much better than what you'd expect from a dead man! Oh my! I cannot believe this, Albus."

"It seems that for the first time in a long while, fate is with us at last."

McGonagall was beaming, clutching James's slim hand in her own- it was cold but warmer than she'd expect. Some right to all the wrongs against them at last.

"What do you plan on doing, Albus?" she asked quietly.

"Think long and hard about this," answered the headmaster. "After I've spoken properly to James, of course. We mustn't jump to conclusions, but for now, I believe it best to keep it a secret. No one must know of this- for everyone's sake."

"I don't think anyone _would_ believe this," muttered Madam Pomfrey.

"What about Black and Lupin, Dumbledore?" asked McGonagall, tucking James's hand under the blanket covering his still form.

"There, I think, I have no choice but to break this to them."

_______________________________________________________________

  
Sirius was with Buckbeak when the phoenix Patronus appeared in his room, bearing a message from Dumbledore that made him frown but stay awake all the same, not that sleep was coming to him. He heard the door to the house shut close announcing Remus's arrival, and when he met his friend at the stairs, the werewolf looked just as confused as Sirius felt.

"What's with the old man?" asked Sirius as they both found seating in the kitchen. He poured Remus and himself Firewhiskey while his friend tried to warm the kitchen.

"You don't think it's about Harry?"

"Nah. Kid's in the safest place possible."

Remus glanced around at the dingy kitchen. "I'd say this is safer."

"Trust me," scoffed Sirius, leaning his chair back as he put his feet up on the table. "Not safer for your sanity. I'd know."

"I really need to stop you from being under the delusion that you are sane. It has consequences."

"You're one to know all about insanity, wouldn't you Moony?"

Remus smiled as he chuckled. "The world could be ending and you'd still find a chance to joke about my lycanthropy."

"Come now, Remus, your Furry Little Problem is one big joke."

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Just a little."

Remus ruffled his hair as they sat waiting for Dumbledore. He looked exhausted in a way Sirius personally felt deep in his bones. Neither of them could rest, a fact Sirius would love to know why. He hardly rested these days, he was so restless and impatient that some moments he weighed the odds of being caught again by the ministry and having a breath of fresh air. He hadn't broken out of Azkaban just to end up locked up again in his childhood prison- nothing he had intended to do upon breaking out was done; Wormtail still roamed free to serve Voldemort, Voldemort himself was on the move, Harry was not in his custody and his hands were still tied.

"I swore I'd do it," Sirius said softly. Remus glanced sharply at him.

"Do what?"

"Kill Wormtail. It's why I bothered doing anything. It's why everything else no longer mattered to me."

"You know," Remus's eyes seemed heavy as he confessed. "Sometimes I feel like we're both the greatest disappointments of the century."

"Used to that title since I was born," shrugged Sirius. "But alright, why?"

"Can't help feel we're letting him down. Both of them."

Sirius didn't need a name, deep down in his heart he knew that he was and perhaps, _perhaps_ , that's what's been driving his guilt all along.

"How?"

"We were both supposed to be there for Harry," Remus said softly. "You first and I next. But when the time really came, we both valued our own preferences over the needs of a one-year-old baby. Our nephew, technically. But neither of us knew him until he was thirteen and even then it was all masked up.

"You wanted your revenge so badly that you were prepared to give whatever it took, and it cost you everything and you still didn't get it. I valued my own comfort and my own peace of mind. How could I, a werewolf, raise a child? That was a spell for headache. So I didn't, I didn't try to take him in. I let it all go. I keep thinking we let James down for that."

"James would have gone after the rat."

"Would he, though?" prodded Remus honestly. "When the time came, would he have valued his revenge over his own son?"

"Knowing James," said Sirius nonchalantly, pouring more Firewhiskey. "He'd have done both. Don't act like you didn't know him, he was proud. And he didn't take well to betrayals, especially from his friends."

"I don't know," spoke Remus honestly.

"Now I'm all for taking the blame, Remus, but you can't change James to do it," spoke Sirius firmly. "If I have one regret, it's that I underestimated the rat."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Just that?"

Sirius shrugged. "Oh and everything else that I've ever done that led up to that conclusion, but that's boring. Halloween is for remembering the dead, not your mistakes, Lupin. Drink up."

"Well then," Remus held up his drink. " _To the dead saints, martyrs, and all the faithful departed._ "

" _Dead saints, martyrs, and all the faithful departed,_ " Sirius echoed, clinking their glasses together and drinking his drink in one go. "Where the ruddy hell is that old man?"

Remus shrugged and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud pop outside the front door. No sooner than half a minute before Dumbledore was standing in the kitchen, looking like a curious sight to Sirius.

"Hello professor," Remus got to his feet. "What is it you've wanted us for?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "How should you like to come back to Hogwarts for a couple of hours?"

Sirius shot to his feet. "Is Harry alright?" he demanded.

"Yes, yes. But surprisingly, this time it is not about young Harry."

Remus had a suspicious frown on his face. "Who, Dumbledore?"

"I'm afraid you will only believe it when you see it. But I do warn you, it'll come as a shock."

Making sure his wand was well put in his pocket, Sirius strode over to Dumbledore. "I'm in." he said simply.

________________________________________________________________

  
The hospital wing was empty when Sirius stepped inside along with Remus and Dumbledore, save for Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGongall standing before an occupied bed at the end of the room. Both were arguing with someone occupying the bed, sitting up and attempting to stand up.

"Potter you are in no condition-!"

"I said I'm _fine_!" came the forceful reply in a hoarse voice from the patient supporting a mop of unruly jet black hair and black robes. He attempted to stand up only to be pushed back down by Madam Pomfrey.

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed softly, hurrying over to his godson. "Harry are you alright?"

"Siriu-" began Remus who stopped short and froze.

"Harry," repeated Sirius, reaching the bed and nudging the two women aside, his hand rested on Harry's shoulder. "What's the matter?"

But he blinked, it wasn't Harry. He blinked again and when the image refused to subside he jumped back.

It was not the first time Sirius looked at Harry and saw James, expecting to see him and seeing him. Almost every time he looked at his godson, he saw his best friend but it was the first time he was looking for Harry and saw James instead.

It was deadly silent in the hospital wing as Remus and Sirius stared blankly at the face of their dead best friend.

"Dumbledore," whispered Remus in a shaking voice, his eyes round and wide. "What's going on?"

His brow furrowed deeply and Sirius shook his head, then looked back at James. It's a dream, _he told himself_. It's definitely a dream.

But he'd never been able to conjure this image of James, this gaunt and haunted James was one that never crossed his wildest dreams. His skin was pale, paler than Sirius had ever seen it, and his eyes looked lifeless- they blinked, but they didn't support the familiar laughter in them.

"Hello, Padfoot, Moony."

Sirius felt a snarl twitching his lips. "Is this a joke? What's going on?"

"I found him in Godric's Hallow. One of my lookouts sent me word of a curious happening. It is him, of course, I've checked myself."

"Crouch fooled you once," snarled Sirius, his hands curling onto themselves. "A whole _year_ ," he spat. "I won't have this-"

"Sirius," Remus began, sounding as clueless as Sirius felt.

"Think you're James, huh?" scowled Sirius at the man who raised an eyebrow in question. " _Prove it_."

The imposter was silent for long, staring back at Sirius unbothered as his eyes blinked. Sirius whipped out his wand and pointed it at him. He repeated his demand.

"You used to be our Secret Keeper before we switched."

" _Everyone_ knows that," spoke Sirius in a dangerously hushed voice.

James lowered his eyes when he next spoke. "You've got 'Blood Traitor' cut into your left arm."

Sirius's hand quivered. "Being a Death Eater, it's easy to find that one out- Bellatrix wouldn't shut up about it-"

"You wanted to burn it off," James went on, making Sirius's mouth go dry. His arm dropped.

"Until I convinced you it was something to be proud of and you had it tattooed later."

"Jesus," whispered Remus.

"When I became Head Boy you wouldn't stop taking the mickey out of me. Remus nearly got killed in Diagon Alley until you and I stepped in. I hated Ancient Runes while you loved it. Do you want me to go on? I've got a remarkable memory now-"

Sirius grabbed James and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't breathe. When he exhaled it came out in a choked cross between a gasp and a sob and now that the dam was broken all the tears came and spilt out.

Remus watched on with eyes glistening with tears, and he continuously tried blinking them back and holding them together before suddenly he couldn't.

He couldn't- he was too tired, too tired of trying to keep it together, too tired of being strong, too tired of this harsh grief. His back curled as he bowed over and he shook as he gripped his knees- his tears dripped onto the floor one after the other, slowly forming a puddle.

He was silent as he wept, his nose burned and his chest was loosening the tight knot in it steadily. Sirius's harsh weeping was the only thing that could be heard as he clutched James tightly, pulling him closer and closer until they were one.

A hand on Remus's shoulder shook him and forced him up straight. James looked at him with those familiar eyes, looking so weary and tired.

"Alright there, Moony?"


	4. Chapter 4

**_When the night has come_**  
 ** _And the land is dark_**  
 ** _And the moon is the only light we'll see_**  
 _ **No I won't be afraid**_  
 _ **Oh, I won't be afraid**_  
 ** _Just as long as you stand, stand by me_**  
________________________________________________________

  
There were many words that could be used to describe James- inquisitive, curious, funny, brave- but one thing James was that would always stand out was how stubborn he was. He had to be, for someone who chased after one girl for four years, a girl as stubborn as Lily Evans. There were many other girls at school, some who were interested in him themselves, but once he'd put his eye on Lily there was no convincing him otherwise.

The same thing could be said about him seeking his son. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey were all fighting a losing battle with him about seeing his son while Remus and Sirius watched quietly the tennis match between the wizards and witches.

Sirius wasn't so quiet when James began making his way to the hospital wing's doors, seeming to have snapped out of a dazed trance when James seemingly won the match.

"Hang on!" Sirius demanded, hurrying after him with Remus at his heels. "You just hold on- it's the middle of the night, James-"

"Thank you, Black!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Finally some sense!"

"Harry's sleeping, not to mention he hasn't the slightest bleeding idea of what's going on!"

"I need to see him," James insisted, gripping the door handle with a trembling hand.

"James, you're not yourself," Sirius spoke softly, placing both his hands on James's hollow cheeks. His eyes were uncharacteristically gentle as he spoke; "It's been fourteen years, do you understand? Harry's his own man, now. Waiting for another day won't make much of a difference. If you go barging into his dormitory now he'll think he's gone mad, he won't recognize you, and we'll have more trouble on our hands than we do already."

"I need to know he's safe."

"He is, Prongs," came Remus's gentle tone. "This is the safest place for him to be right now, but it won't be when the whole school and the world know you're alive. Sit down, catch your breath, let us fill you in, help us understand and we'll help you break this down to him."

"I swear I'll get you two back together," promised Sirius vehemently in a serious and quiet voice. "On my life, he won't miss you anymore. Trust me, James."

His hand on the handle relaxed and he lowered it. "I-I-" his voice choked up. "I don't know-" he couldn't find the words to speak. He didn't know what to do, he was lost and confused but all his mind could chant was _Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. Keep Harry safe. Safe._

Sirius's lips smiled so sadly. "We know," he assured him. "We know."

"Come sit down, James," Remus placed his hand on his elbow, his eyes twinkling. "You look dead."

Though his jumbled emotions was a tangled mess, James smiled and steadily shook with laughter while Sirius's eyes brightened with his smile. Remus's broad grin was a sight for sore eyes and Sirius threw his arm around James's shoulders, leading him back to his bed where Madam Pomfrey resumed her interrupted healing process.

Sirius's arm never left James's shoulders as he and Remus filled James in on that he missed with Dumbledore occasionally explaining vaguely what they couldn't. James didn't speak much as Madam Pomfrey constantly made him swallow one potion after the other, gradually reintroducing warmth to his insides that finally began making him feel alive and easing a discomfort he hadn't bothered to identify. The steady warmth his body was taking and the comforting weight around his shoulders were enough to calm him down in such a way that he felt able to sort through his thoughts, take in his surroundings and chew what he was biting.

His friends had changed so drastically it was a wonder he recognized them at all but a part of him had known, as if he'd seen them or known their fates, or seemed to have known because it all felt familiar like a dream he'd forgotten. Remus looked taller, lankier and poorer than James had ever seen him; his face was a sight to see as old scars that in James's last years were white lines seemed to have freshly opened and newcomers joined recently. There was a weak moustache on his face that slowly ticked James off and loneliness seemed to be a frequent visitor.

Sirius was a different sight; gone were his legendary handsome looks, replaced with a wearier shadow of them accessing his pale face stretched thin, a beard grown longer than Sirius had once cared to keep and his clothes not ones James knew his friend liked to wear.

James wondered what he looked like and if he would ever care.

"What'd you get into Azkaban for, then?" James interrupted Sirius's recapping of last year. They paused and Madam Pomfrey quietly left to her storage room.

Sirius's dark eyes seemed to darken, and he offered no words.

"How did you know?" Remus asked.

How did he? James would love to know that too. How did he indeed? "I don't know," he admitted in his hoarse voice. "It feels like I do."

His friends were quiet.

"Eh?"

"I went after Peter," said Sirius boldly, staring at James. "The next night."

"Sirius..." Remus warned softly.

"And you let him go?" asked James, ignoring Remus.

A faintly curious look swam across Sirius's poker face briefly. "He got the better of me."

James ran his hands through his hair and stood up. "So you got locked up in Azkaban because _Peter_ got the better of you –Harry's _only_ legal guardian and godfather– so where did he end up? An orphanage?" he turned to Remus, waving a questioning hand. "With you, Remus?"

Remus looked away from James quickly, guilt taking over his face as Sirius watched James steadily, unblinking.

"If I may," Dumbledore intercepted carefully. "James, let me explain-"

"My parents are dead, so are Lily's," James paced back and forth. "Where did you lot dump Harry to grow up?"

"James-" Remus began.

" _Where_?"

"His Aunt and Uncle," Sirius stood up too, hands steady at his sides, looking James square in the face. "Lily's sister and her husband."

"The _Dursleys_?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. "He was miserable there until he found out he was a wizard. They were horrible to him; they ignore him now mostly after I had Harry threaten them with me. It's a good thing I'm a mass murderer, isn't it? Even the muggles heard of me."

"The Dursleys?" James repeated in a low voice, disbelief and contempt clouding over. "Honestly?"

"I was going to take him," said Sirius. "Right when I found you both dead, I took him from his crib, stopped him crying, told him it'd be alright even if it all was going to hell," Sirius's voice seemed to shake just a bit. "That's when Hagrid showed up, on his orders," he nodded at Dumbledore. James's eyes darted to the old man sitting quietly at the foot of a bed. "Said he had to take him to Lily's sister, that it was safer for him. Wouldn't take no for an answer. And well, Lily's lying there on the ground dead, you're dead downstairs, and I'm arguing over Harry's custody while Peter's running free- seemed heartless to me. Hagrid took him and I thought I'd deal with Peter and get Harry back the next day. Well.. Saw him twelve years later."

Sirius's words ended, leaving the hospital wing eerily quiet and James silenced. Remus had sat on the floor, head bowed over and his arms on his knees, offering no words.

"Why her?" James turned to Dumbledore. "Harry was safer with Sirius. He would have been the safest. _Why did you take him to the Dursleys?_ "

McGonagall looked up from her lap to the headmaster as though asking the same question, still wanting the satisfying answer that she never received. Even Remus looked up.

Dumbledore chose his next words carefully. "Due to Mrs Dursley's blood connection to Harry," he began slowly. "Lily's maternal sacrifice for Harry would be transmitted through Petunia because they are sisters. So long Harry stays with the Dursleys he is protected against all dangers due to Lily's sacrifice, a protection which Petunia provides Harry with through the shared blood between them. Even if she is unwilling to do so.

"Still," Dumbledore went on quietly. "After the events of last year, I am obliged to think such protection is fruitless now, against Voldemort at least."

"Why?" asked James lowly.

"He took Harry's blood," Remus spoke suddenly, his voice echoing with the realization. He stared at Dumbledore with an astonished expression, hands deep in his greying hair. "The protection is useless against him. He knew- Voldemort knows about Lily's protection, doesn't he? Sirius, didn't Harry say he knew about the Old Magic Lily used?"

Sirius's face was a picture as he stared at Dumbledore, Remus's words bouncing off him. "We left him all summer in that house to be protected, Dumbledore," he stated.

"We did indeed," nodded Dumbledore. "Once it became evident it was not safe for Harry we withdrew him from there at once."

"Voldemort could have walked straight in!" Sirius's voice rose high and McGonagall immediately shushed him. "Easy as you do! _'Oh, you want to kill Harry? Hold on, have a cup of tea before you do. We'll bring him downstairs for you!'_ " he made a cruel effort of mimicking the Dursleys. He stared blankly at Dumbledore. "He could have gone to Grimmauld straight away."

"Harry is safe-"

"I'm sorry but you just said Lily's protection doesn't stand against Voldemort anymore!" roared Sirius. Remus quickly cast a Muffilato charm over the door when it became evident Sirius wasn't going to shut up. "All summer- _all summer_ ," his voice shook. "I bit my tongue and I told him to keep his head down, I kept him out of everything, I ignored every worry of his, I did what you said because it was _safe_ for him!"

"I was confident Voldemort wouldn't be going after Harry this summer-"

"Excuse me but how fluent are you in how a maniac's brain works?" demanded Sirius furiously, advancing few steps between him and Dumbledore. "He plotted to kill Harry three times- he nearly did last time. He's back. He's worse than before and he knows he can touch Harry and we _left_ Harry in the open, just hoping Voldemort wouldn't go after him this summer, EH?"

" _Sirius!_ " Remus exclaimed, jumping to his feet and grabbing Sirius by the arm. "Sirius listen to yourself, to who you're talking to. Get a grip on yourself."

"Get off me!" Sirius furiously shoved Remus off him, a great scowl on his face. "He was miserable all summer. Alone. Lonely. His friend was murdered before his eyes and he was left alone to deal with that. Who did he turn to for comfort? ME! And I belittled everything he said because _you_ said so! I did it because it was safer for him when I could have helped him from the start, when he could have lived with me this summer, with some company, with friends to listen to him-"

"Padfoot?"

Neither of them had heard the doors to the hospital wing open due to Sirius's shouting to admit a fresh out of bed Harry, standing in his nightclothes and a jumper shoved over his pyjamas, hair looking messier than ever. His eyes looked sharp and awake, not that of a sleeping teenage boy.

They jumped immediately the moment Harry announced himself, Dumbledore waved his hand over James as he wordlessly cast a Disillusionment Charm and Sirius hurried over to Harry while McGonagall jumped to her feet.

"Potter, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Harry, are you alright?" Sirius placed a hand over Harry's shoulders.

"Yeah, 'm fine," replied Harry distractedly, looking over Sirius's shoulders at Remus and Dumbledore who stared pointedly at the window before him as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "What're _you_ doing here?"

"Never mind that," Sirius waved it off hurriedly. "What's the matter?"

"I heard you shouting," Harry said and saw Remus shoot Sirius a murderous look. "Won't you be caught here?"

"We were just leaving," Sirius answered. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," lied Harry, looking back at his godfather. He'd just had another dream. "What _are_ you doing here? What's going on?"

"That would be none of your business, Potter," McGonagall stepped up. "Ten points from Gryffindor for being out late past curfew-" Harry looked betrayed. "-come with me, immediately and we shall see about not giving you detention for this."

"But-But if it's important, I wanna know-"

" _Potter_."

"I'll let you know. Very soon," promised Sirius, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Now off to bed with you. Goodnight."

"'Night," muttered Harry, looking once more over Sirius's shoulder. Sirius couldn't get the rattled and shaken look in Harry's eyes out of his mind. "Will I see you again?"

"Swear it," Sirius assured him. "Now go."

McGonagall firmly pulled Harry out of the hospital wing, and as Harry disappeared Sirius glimpsed a bit of parchment sticking out from the inside of the pocket of Harry's jumper.

"You will go to bed and make no mention of this to anyone," said McGonagall sternly as she accompanied him through the halls. He was too dazed to reply for the moment. "We have an intolerable toad on our hands and it will do us no good if she finds out." She halted in her words abruptly when she realized what she'd just said but Harry didn't comment. "Potter? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I- I just thought I saw someone there," he answered.

"Who?" asked McGonagall carefully.

"I don't know. I- I think it might be my dad," Harry admitted quietly. "Wait- did you call Umbridge an intolerable toad, Professor?"

"Hush, Potter," McGonagall answered with a stern expression but it waned for a moment. "Or it'll be another five points from Gryffindor."

"I didn't say anything," he replied with raised eyebrows. "You're the one who called her an intolerable toad-"

"Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry grinned fleetingly, staring at McGonagall with an admiring expression. His respect for her was growing stronger than before. They arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait and when it opened after McGonagall spoke the password, Harry stepped through.

"Professor," he said at the last moment. McGonagall turned back to look at him. "Just so you know, I think it's wicked." He grinned at her and he could swear he saw a smile on her lips.

"One point from Gryffindor," she said softly before turning and walking off into the corridor to be swallowed by the shadows, too fearless to walk with the need of light to see.

Harry collapsed into one of the vacant armchairs of the Gryffindor Common Room and pulled out the Marauders Map from his pocket. The hospital wing was there, Madam Pomfrey in her office, with Professor Dumbledore's name too. Sirius and Remus weren't there, seemingly really have left but it didn't take much of his concentration. Harry was too busy staring at the empty spot where he could have sworn up and down that the name _'James Potter'_ had been, clear as day. He wouldn't have left his dormitory but the name had been there, was moving, was close to Sirius's, to Remus's that he couldn't resist to find out if the map was broken or lying.

"Map never lies," he muttered under his breath to himself, echoing the words of his previous professor. "Map never lies... Dad, is that really you?" 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Don't try to fight; nothin' you can do** _   
_** I'm gonna run all over you ** _   
_** Too late to try; there's nothin' you can do ** _   
_**I'm gonna run all over you** _   
_**I'm lookin' for new** _ ** _blood_ **

________________________________________________________________

  
Of the many things James often frequented doing with Sirius in the mornings, one happened to be transforming into his Animagus form and roughing Sirius off his bed with his antlers should the young man prove to be a nuisance when waking as he was prone to do. While he stood in the doorway to Sirius's room the next morning James contemplated doing just that, for the sake of a laugh, for the sake of making Sirius smile but he couldn't bring himself to.

Why? Why do it? He didn't seem to have the heart to do anything.

He left his friend sleeping on his bed, having gone to bed very early in the morning, and made his way through Sirius's house for the first time in his life. He had no idea how Sirius grew up in this sunless, soulless, dismal and dark house, and turned out how he did- looking back on it, many of Sirius's less than favoured darker tendencies made sense in James's mind. It was no wonder Sirius snapped in the summer of their fifth year and showed up at James's house.

He'd had shown up at the Potter doorstep beaten, bleeding and sobbing. He repeated that he was so sorry for being an inconvenience that night more than James could count, but he didn't have anywhere left to go and James had said he could come around anytime.

_"Sweetheart, stay still. I need to get a proper look at this," Euphemia Potter firmly but kindly told Sirius as she examined his bleeding head, carefully prodding around his skull to figure if it was broken. Fleamont Potter stood at Sirius's side, holding Sirius's twisted arm that was broken out of place and figuring out the next steps to healing the arm. The skilled duelist wasn't a practised healer like his wife, but over his long years, he'd learnt a few things._

_"James shut the door," instructed Euphemia firmly. "Sweetheart," she directed her attention back to Sirius. No one had ever addressed him like that so frequently. "This is going to hurt, but it'll only be a moment before it's over."_

_Shaken, pale and devastated, Sirius tried to nod numbly as she held a cloth to his bleeding skull, when she was certain James shut the door, she cast a Muffilato charm with one hand and cast another wordless mending spell the next second that made Sirius scream in pain and tremble. The sixteen-year-old looked spent, tear tracks down his handsome face, his broken arm bleeding at the forearm from a degrading marking by his parents._

_"I'm so sorry," she softly crooned. "I'm so sorry, Sirius darling, but it's all fine now. I'll just clean it up, there- your skull isn't broken anymore. You're such a brave young man, standing all that. There, I'm all done. Fleamont, how's the arm?"_

_James watched his parents treat his best friend, an unexplainable feeling of pride that they were taking care of him so well as their own bubbling in his stomach accompanied by a dreadful feeling of the state of his best friend. He couldn't imagine the same fate befalling his own sweet little sister, Charlotte, and was more than grateful that the girl was asleep upstairs, blissfully unaware of the happenings._

_Euphemia patched Sirius up well, treated his wound and bandaged the words on his arm that he couldn't bear to look at while James sat next to him. The house-elf was instructed to make Sirius a warm drink, one they waited for quietly as Sirius leaned on James, covered with James's favourite Quidditch blanket, his head bandaged along with his arm, and spoke nothing. His parents didn't press him, only asked once and were satisfied with the answer they got. Sirius didn't say it in many words, but that his parents used the Cruciatus Curse on him silenced and horrified James in a way he'd never been before._

His parents took Sirius in and treated him like James. Charlotte had been in love with Sirius, even before he came to live with him, she had followed him around like a shadow and was rejoiced with the attention he eagerly gave her back. Games of Quidditch outside the Potter house were often played; Charlotte and Sirius one team, James and Fleamont another. Sirius once played with Fleamont against the Potter siblings and it had been the lousiest game James ever witnessed in his life; Sirius was too soft on Charlotte and pretended to always miss the ball she scored, and Charlotte felt bad about playing against him so all her wins were an accident.

Thinking about his sister was a blow to the stomach, but it's all he'd been doing that night. When McGonagall whisked Harry off, Sirius grabbed hold of James and Dumbledore apparated them straight into Grimmauld Place's kitchen along with Remus where James was too dazed and thrown off by seeing his son that he hadn't spoken a single word.

Sirius went to bed after sitting with James for several hours until Remus suggested they turn in for the night to let James rest. Sirius gave him the room next to his, but James hadn't slept; instead, he stared up at the ceiling all-night-long feeling dreadful and awful.

 _Rest,_ he'd scoffed in his head when Remus suggested it, too worried for James. _Rest._

He didn't want to entertain any notion or thought that could leading him spiralling down a dark hole he didn't want to end up stuck in- that he was an expert in, but it was impossible. James had always the widest grin and the brightest smile, partially because he feared the sadness that would envelop him. His sixth year at Hogwarts was one he never wished to relive, and the way his whole world dimmed and darkened frightened him more than anything ever had.

By his small trek of discovery in the house, passing the room Remus himself occupied, he found the drawing-room of the house and came across the Black family tree. There was a house-elf cowering in the room, dressed in rags as house-elves were prone to, and muttering under his breath. He looked up at James when he came in, seeming to recognise him at first before his eyes trailed to James's forehead and his face blanked out.

"I suppose you're Kreacher?" James asked the house-elf lightly as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking around the empty drawing-room; there were markings on the floor that spoke of past furniture, possibly thrown out by Sirius on his rampage to erase every mark of his parents ever being there. Sirius hadn't told him the house elf's name, hadn't actually mentioned the house-elf before, but the name came to James's mind so easily as if he'd known it for ages. He wondered how he did, but he figured that if he sat down and sorted through his thoughts, he'd get a grasp on what had changed in regards to him.

The house-elf stared at him and his silence was an answer enough.

"Well... nice to meet you," James glanced one last time around the drawing-room before he rounded out of it.

"Wizard hasn't told Kreacher his name," spoke the house-elf, stopping James in the dark hallway. "Kreacher would like to know the name of the wizard roaming his mistress's halls."

James smiled tightly. "I don't think it's any of your business."

He found the kitchen once more, warmest place of the whole house, lit the fireplace and had a seat at the long table. The deafening silence around him was distracting, but he closed his eyes and pressed his face to his hands. The cool darkness was something he was well acquainted with, something of an old friend he'd slumbered long in.

James remembered the night of Halloween very clearly, he remembered all things clearly. His wand had been out of reach when Voldemort came to murder them; James had been entertaining Harry with smoke when Lily took him to bed. When Voldemort came, never had he been more terrified- it was a frequent nightmare of his; for Voldemort to storm down their front door and murder Lily and Harry in a heartbeat. He hadn't had time to feel scared of dying, all he could think of was getting Lily time to take Harry and run, grab her wand and apparate right out of the house to somewhere safe. Sirius's house was safe with protective enchantments, and they'd run through the possibility countless of times.

But Lily hesitated, he remembered that clearly because of the pang of hurt it continuously caused him. _GO! Run!_ He'd roared at her but she hadn't wanted to run, hadn't wanted to flee and leave him dead, couldn't live with herself if she lived and he didn't and her hesitation cost her life. Cost Harry his mother, cost Sirius and Remus their dear friend, cost Petunia her sister and cost Harry a loving upbringing.

James's hand curled into a fist that came down on the tabletop with a furious bang. He'd made her swear she'd take Harry and run soon as they smelled a whiff of Voldemort, they'd made that promise over and over and sealed it with many heartbroken tears as Lily made peace with abandoning him for Harry. He'd made peace with it himself, knowing that distracting Voldemort with himself would buy Lily and their son their lives.

 _But Lily hesitated._ The thought broke something in him. And now he had to wallow through this mess alone.

It felt like sleeping, at the start, after the green light and after the quiet drifting of nothing. Then his dreams started; visions repeated over and over, witnessing scenes as if he were there, of numerous people strangers and friends alike. For a long time, he could only think was years, he dreamt and saw and witnessed. If he concentrated, with the right motive, he figured he could pull each and every one of his dreams in extreme detail but he had no reason to. He suspected all the things he knew yet had no idea from where he knew came from that time. His dreams weren't fantasies conjured up from his brain; his brain wasn't working, wasn't bringing anything from its own and he hadn't been living, at least in the terms of life he was familiar with.

Then he stopped dreaming. For some reason. The last thing he remembered seeing was a vision of a graveyard, and Voldemort duelling with his son surrounded by his Death Eaters.

All dreams stopped after that, and after came excruciating pain. Pain that brought him back aware to his body, to himself; it ran through every cell of his body, tore through every muscle and every bone so painfully that thinking about it felt so vividly real it brought a wince to his face and brought furious flaming fires to wreak carnage under his skin.

Then... and then it was spectacularly beautiful and magical all the same. _Colours_ \- so bright and vibrant echoed and erupted all around him, sizzling sounds that reminded him of fireworks, and the warm tingling feeling that accompanied casting magic. Up until he realized he was casting magic with no wand, no thought and no intent with much more power than he was accustomed to.

James had always been able to cast wandless magic; it was a trait shared between him and his father and his grandfather and all his ancestors before him. James always felt his limit came after simple thoughtless things; lighting a candle, shutting a door, shifting an object. He was an exceptional wizard with his wand, so full of life and driven with his spells, always seeking to find what next he could accomplish- McGonagall once told him that casting spells for him seemed like first nature, saying so once in a class as his fellow classmates struggled to transfigure objects while he had accomplished his during his second attempt.

She was curious about his ability, and always assigned him tasks high above his level. She encouraged his train of thoughts that the way to cast a spell was to look at its nature and its function, to look at the very heart of it. Becoming an Animagus, something the most skilled of wizards and witches spent years and years practicing with help to achieve, he and Sirius had researched, attempted and done within the span of three years.

Brilliant and bright as he was, he couldn't always be entertained in class as he was in Transfiguration so he'd never cast much thought to work on a part of himself that could prove to be a challenge. It was too fun being at the top of the class effortlessly.

Now he wondered how far he could push himself, and if it was worth the investment. His fingers twitched out of the fist he'd made and swept a path on the table; all dust rose at once swiftly and shot straight to the corner of the kitchen in a pile, leaving the place dustless.

Wandless magic wasn't taught because it was a talent, something a person was born with- he'd seen other wizards cast wandless magic, simple things like swirling a drink, flipping the page of a book, and of the like.

He glanced at the out of place chairs and almost immediately they began righting themselves into their places. Pondering over how far he could go, he didn't notice Remus stepping into the kitchen until the werewolf gently knocked on the doorframe of the kitchen, wearing a gentle smile and a tender look in his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered with a disbelieving tone behind his smile. James offered him a brief smile.

"Morning."

"Slept well?" asked Remus as he stepped into the warm kitchen and took a seat next to James. He shook his head in answer and glanced at Remus's tired face.

"Doesn't seem you did, either."

Remus offered a sheepish smile. "Wasn't tired, really. Didn't feel like it."

"Should have said something," James replied, resting his forehead in his palm and holding Remus's gaze. "Company would have been appreciated."

"I... I was digesting it all. It still feels like a dream to me," confessed Remus with a shake of his head, reaching out to place a hand on James's dormant one atop the table. Remus's hand was so warm- he was always the warmest of them. "It feels too good to be true. Something good is finally happening. First Sirius and then you. I can't believe myself- it, it feels like a trick. Getting you both back."

"Wonder how much of us you got back, though."

"It doesn't matter," Remus shook his head with such conviction, so sure of it. "It doesn't matter at all. You're both breathing, alive, walking and talking. You're both here, it's more than I ever imagined wanting. My wildest dreams never stretched as far as this; it all stretched to seeing you after I die."

"And now this?" Remus's eyes twinkled with tears. " _This is the best thing that's happened to me. Ever._ "

James' heart felt for the man, as it always had, as it had when Remus had confessed to being a werewolf when they confronted him with it, as it had when the boy cried and began packing his stuff because he assumed they'd want him gone ( _"Are you frigging kidding me?!" exclaimed a wide-eyed Sirius. "This is the coolest thing in the world! Our friend is a raging werewolf, how awesome is that?!")_. He sighed softly and enclosed his fingers around Remus's hand.

"I won't be myself for a while, I don't know when I will be," confessed James softly. "I might never be. I need you to know that."

"You're alive," Remus shook his head. "That's all I need."

For a brief moment, James's lips drew back into a watery smile as his eyes prickled with tears. He blinked once and they were gone so he focused on Remus's scarred hand in his own.

"How have you been?" he asked as he raked his eyes over his face. Remus never looked so worse for wear, with his poor clothing and his exhausted state. "How's your work? Are people giving you a hard time?"

The wistful smile on his lips was an answer that didn't surprise James much. It was not expected of the world to be so accepting of Remus, a sad truth but a reality all the same. No one wanted to hire a werewolf, and if they did hire him unknowingly, his jobs were short lived and so beneath his standard. James hated that, he hated it with all his being. Remus was so gifted, the brightest of their year, the smartest and the one with the best head for the big jobs, with the best shot at a successful career and yet it all shriveled and died because of that one small condition that made him invalid.

"They haven't done anything for it?" James asked, after Remus explained. "No discoveries? All this time?"

"Well, there's the Wolfsbane potion. That was something, but it's dangerous and expensive. Doesn't cure lycanthropy, though, just tames it. But not many werewolves are ready to register to take it- too much trouble."

"Tried it?"

Remus nodded. "When I worked at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had Snape make it for me every month. It calmed me, I'll give it that. Gave me my mind back, but- well, it wasn't anything different than what you guys did. Being with you actually was better. But I had my head for the year and it was better than nothing."

"Can't you get it every month?" asked James. "If it's helpful?"

"Can't make it, not much of a potion's master as you know," Remus's lips turned up halfway. "And I'm not willing to register, even if the authorities probably already know. Besides, it's too expensive and my jobs don't pay off well. And the Order's not profitable... so it's out of the question."

"How hard is it to make?" asked James. "Sirius was a decent potions maker, I'm sure I could swing it myself."

"Really hard, apparently," Remus shook his head. "It's dangerous too because of the aconite in it. It could end up killing me instead. Besides, it's too expensive."

"Can you buy it ready, then?"

"No, James. Too damn expensive."

"Moony," James said with a faint and scoffing smile. "I don't give a damn if it's expensive or not. Your medication is way more important."

Remus shook his head again. "I'm fine, James. I can't let you."

"Since when have I ever looked to you for permission? You're my best mate, I don't give a damn about anything else."

" _I_ do," there was a smile on Remus's lips. "James, I'm used to it. It is awful but I'm used to it. There are more important things to think of."

James looked away from Remus's face, down to their hands and nodded. "It will all change, I promise."

"It already has."

James squeezed his hand but couldn't find it in himself to let go. They soon heard the quick footsteps coming down the stairs and turned their heads to see Sirius standing in the doorway, eyes wide and fixed on James. With his free hand, James gave a small wave and a relieved look washed over Sirius's face before he bounded into the kitchen, eagerly pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"Slept well?" asked James. "I hope you did. Neither of us could from your shite snoring."

"Oh piss off," snorted Sirius. "For the last time, I'm not the snorer."

"Our ears would suggest otherwise."

"You need them checked out if they're so damaged."

"Not as damaged as your hair, though. The hell happened to it?"

James couldn't remember the last time Sirius's hair looked so unkempt, and vividly remembered Sirius being very meticulous about his hair and frequently cut it short and healthy. Now it looked like a mane belonging to a gang member turned legal but with gray areas and a criminal record of carving people's eyes out with forks and blunt butter knives and an addiction to smoking.

Smoke. James's fingers suddenly twitched and itched. When was the last time he had a cigarette? Forgetting about it had been blissful but now that he was aware of it, his whole blood seemed to crawl and twitch with the need for an inhale of smoke.

His parents hadn't found out about his smoking until a couple of months after his habit began before starting his sixth year at Hogwarts and only because McGonagall had written to them expressing her concern over his sudden tendency to go into severe coughing fits and his frequent visits to the hospital wing. They found out then, and though they attempted to draw him out of the habit before it was too late, his addiction only strengthened and found it to be the only comforting coping mechanism he could turn to without going mad.

"Azkaban happened. I don't know if you know, but the Dementors don't really care about nutrition and healthy diets."

Remus snorted softly while James's fingers on the table began to tap of their own accord. He needed a smoke- now, now, now. He clenched his hand and flexed it back open. It'd help with the headache he suddenly discovered in his skull.

"The food was terrible. I'd never eaten anything like it in all my life and I'd swallowed down James's burnt toast."

"It wasn't so bad when you compare it to his tea."

James stared unseeingly at the spot on the wall behind Sirius's head. It was all he could think about, then. Smoking. It would quench this deep unease in his stomach, help him clear his head, rid him of this headache. He screwed his eyes shut and his brow furrowed deeply. Gosh, it was awful.

"... But to be fair, it was all better than your coffee."

"Hey, I'm not the one who's a deranged lunatic and hates sugar. You've got a problem, Sirius."

" _Me?_ There's liking sugar, and there's being absolutely addicted to it. Sadly, you're the latter, Remus. I've never seen someone dump so much sugar for a mug of coffee."

"You are the abnormal who likes it raw and without anything. Even James adds things to his."

"Yeah, _Firewhiskey_. Cause it's _that_ bad."

"No, it's not. You're just an abnormal freak with no taste at all."

"Man, you're an addicted sociopath with an unusual sweet tooth."

"At least I'm not-"

"Oi, James? Mate, you all right?" James's focus was snapped back to his two bickering friends to see both pair of eyes fixed on him. His hand stopped its tapping. "Hey man, you don't look so good," Sirius gently said. "Need anything?"

"No," he shook his head and swallowed heavily. "I'm all right."

Silence fell on them in the kitchen. James started fidgeting again, under the watchful and trained gaze of Sirius.

"So what's the plan?" asked Remus after a few moments of silence. "What do you want to do now you're back?"

Big questions, questions James absolutely had the answer to.

"Kill Peter, clear Sirius's name, find you a job, get Harry's custody, and find a damned cigarette," James rushed in one breath and pushed back his chair, abruptly getting to his feet. "Do either of you have one?"

Both of his friends shook their head and James cursed, burying his hands deep into his hair and tugging at it to relieve the pounding in his head. "Damn it."

"I forgot you smoked," Sirius said smoothly after exchanging glances with Remus. "So that hadn't changed, then?"

"You wish it did," snorted James. "Merlin's sake, I'm losing my mind. I haven't felt like this in ages."

"I take it you're not quitting?"

"Better men and women have tried, Pads. You know that."

"Just a thought."

"James," Remus began hesitantly. "Let's talk about what you just said. About... Wormtail."

"What about him?" James grunted, tugging at his hair and straightening up when his headache loosened a little. It was still there but had faded slightly. He reclaimed his seat once more.

"It's about what you said," Sirius stated. "You want to go after him?"

"Thought that was obvious," James spoke bluntly. "Why? Thought I wouldn't?"

"Yeah," Remus nodded. "We had him, Sirius and I. We were going to do it, kill him together, but we couldn't do it. Couldn't become murderers. You sure you want to? He's the boy who worshipped you for seven years, after all. The one you loved."

"I'll be honest with you, Moony," James fiddled with his fingers and cracked some of them. "I feel a lot of things about him, but love isn't one that comes to mind when I think of the arsehole. You hear me?"

"You sure?" Remus prodded coolly. "He's the boy you took under your wing, protected him, spent time with him, befriended him, called him your brother."

"He's also the shite that got Dorcas murdered, sold out Marlene and her whole family, killed Lily, made Harry's life a living hell, murdered twelve muggles, put Sirius in Azkaban and is the reason I've missed all this. _Don't_ assume the vermin means anything to me, I'll rip his wretched guts out with my bare hands if I have to. _He is going down and I'm doing it._ "

"I hate to break it to you, but if Wormtail's dead then the truth dies with him and Sirius won't ever have his name cleared."

James stood up and paced away from the table. "The truth isn't tied to him. Not anymore. Not only him."

"But he's the most important evidence."

"Fuck him," James said confidently. "He won't be any longer I can promise you both that. He won't be anything when I'm through with him."

"Would you really do it?" spoke Sirius, starting at James as if presenting a challenge he was doubtful his friend could live up to.

James turned to him. "Guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"


	6. Chapter 6

**_His grief he will not forget,_**  
 ** _but it will not darken his heart;_**  
 ** _it will teach him wisdom_**  
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_Harry,_

_I know we've discussed this and you've expressed your explicit dislike for my idea, but now it's important. I can't draw you away from the school seeing as it'd be too suspicious. I'm only going to ask you to trust me, and to meet me in the outskirts of Hogsmead after you've finished anything you need to do. I'll find you._

_Love,_

_Snuffles._

Harry stared at the letter in his hands blankly, the sound of breakfast slowly being muted in his ears as his classmates chatted together and owls hooted in their descent upon the students. Ron was saying something that no longer registered in Harry's mind as Hermione dived behind the great paper of the Daily Prophet, and all he could find in his head was a deafening silence.

Something important. Important. Too important for Sirius to risk his neck twice now. Harry's hand trembled slightly before he clenched his hand and stuffed the letter in his pocket. Could it really be..? His heart leapt at the thought, but he was suddenly too scared to trust it. He couldn't have his spirit trampled too, more than it already was being. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it.

"-Harry? Harry! Harry!"

He snapped out of his daze to find Hermione staring at him as Ron stuffed his face with buttered toast. "Huh?"

"Who was that from?" she glanced around them and leaned in, adding in a whisper; "Is it from... Snuffles?"

Harry's stare and silence was enough an answer.

"What'd he want?" Ron perked up, interested. "What'd he say?"

"He wants to meet me in Hogsmead."

"Oh, Harry! NO!" hissed Hermione immediately. "You can't let him do that! You explicitly told him not to. It's too dangerous- for both of you!"

"Didn't seem like he's giving me a choice," mumbled Harry numbly.

"What?"

"Something's happened," Harry figured quietly. "Something really important. He wants to tell me about it. It was so important that it had him and Lupin in the hospital wing with Dumbledore and McGonagall really late in the night. Something's happened."

"D'you think it's got something to do with You-Know-Who?" Ron inquired, lowering his voice.

"Dunno," mumbled Harry. "It can't be, though. Right? Not enough to bring Sirius out of his house. It's got something to do with Lupin and him and..."

"What? Who?"

Harry shook his head. "But he wants to tell me about it. So it's gotta be about me."

"Maybe he's going away?" Ron suggested in a quiet voice. "You know, for a mission or to draw away attention. Maybe he's saying goodbye?"

Harry's heart clenched at the thought and a bitter feeling spread through him. He didn't want that. Not Sirius too. No. "Dunno. What, Hermione?"

Hermione looked sceptical. "Why does he want to tell you about it?" she asked. Upon their bemused faces, she explained. "During the summer, Sirius wanted to tell Harry everything when everyone else said no. He fought them to let Harry know- for... for his own reasons. Is this like that?"

Harry felt his neck chill as he stared at Hermione. "Don't think so," he spoke coolly. "He's not that stupid to go against Dumbledore's wishes, is he? Besides, he understands when he has to tell me and when he doesn't."

"Does he, though?" Hermione asked. "I mean-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry slammed his palms on the table and stood up abruptly. Without another word, he grabbed his book bag and furiously stalked out of the Great Hall, fuming quietly.

He had enough of being treated like a child. Sirius was the only one who didn't feel the need to mollycoddle Harry, to shy him away from things that would inevitably catch up with him, to keep him blind and his senses dulled. Sirius understood –more than Mrs Weasley who saw Harry as a little boy and Hermione who thought him immature- what it meant to have a target on your back and wanted Harry on guard at all times. There was no point in deluding him with what was going on if the mess was going to catch up to him eventually.

Harry had been marked down for murder since he was a baby, had fought Voldemort three times, had stood by in excruciating pain while Cedric was murdered, had his parents murdered, was taunted and laughed at in school. Shite like this doesn't happen to children, to innocent and sweet boys who didn't have their futures and family ripped from their arms, nor to boys who weren't hunted by a mass murderer. Harry wasn't a child, so it was time he wasn't being treated like one.

He was a survivor.

Sirius saw that in him, Sirius saw the man in Harry and trusted him- that was more than Harry could say for damn Dumbledore, McGonagall, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Mrs Weasley, Hermione and everyone else. Harry didn't have someone to share this load with and was forced to carry it on his own, so people had to stop pretending like he wasn't balancing it all alone.

________________________________________________________________

  
The shocked faces James came across when the Order gathered for a meeting were all countless and understandable. Predictably, everyone was speechless, at loss for words, and utterly confused. Thankfully, Dumbledore was present and explained in brisk and short words that gave no room for any discussion.

The way Dumbledore phrased it sounded curious to James himself, making it seem like he'd been dead and came back to life- that hadn't happened, had it? James hadn't the heart to interrupt the Headmaster to clarify that detail and go down the long road of explaining how he knew, what it had been like, was he trustworthy? Was he lying? Besides, having the reputation of a man coming back from death would bound to serve his purposes.

And there was only one person James was certainly concerned about explaining it specifically to.

Dumbledore's brief explanation didn't stop the constant looks thrown at James, who stared at the speakers with a turn of his lips offering no words. One of the newer recruits, that James hadn't caught the name of, stopped the meeting to ask a question that James wondered if was by far the most absurd and stupid of all questions he'd heard in his life.

"Hold on, is he on our side?"

Eyes swivelled to James, who sat slouched in his seat next to Sirius and Remus. His hands twitched and trembled with the need for a smoke, and the irritating headache that refused to subside was ticking him off.

"I'll give you a moment to let the question sink in," answered James quietly. He nodded then and glanced back at Mundungus Fletcher. "Go on."

"Well, ahm, as I said. I won' be able to watch over Potter when 'e goes into Hogsmead. See, I'm banned from mo't of the pubs and I'd get recognized-"

"Dung," Sirius interrupted with an amused look on his face and his lips twitching. Recently, the man was looking steadily better than he ever had. "Is it because you have a deal to show up to?"

"'Course not!" spluttered Fletcher. "I ta'e this job seriously, ya know?! I-I just don't wanna risk blowin' up me cover to the Potter boy, eh? Might not like it."

Molly Weasley scoffed and shook her head. "Take this job seriously?" she repeated indignantly. James's gaze went to her. "You abandoned Harry for a couple of stolen cauldrons, Mundungus! I don't think you take this job seriously at all!"

"See, it's because I'm going to meet him anyway in Hogsmead, so you don't have to watch over him," Sirius told Fletcher, ignoring Molly and silencing the whole room. "So if you got anything to do that day, really it's not a problem."

"Ah, well-"

"Have I heard this correctly?" Arthur Weasley asked. "You're meeting him?"

"Well someone has to tell the kid his Dad's alive, don't they?" Sirius answered smoothly. "Who else?"

"Sirius, this is dangerous," Arthur insisted. "For both of you."

"I'm going away anyways, I have to show my face to the world. Draw away some attention."

"Dumbledore, are you aware of this?"

Heads swivelled to the old man sat at the table who answered with a nod. "I believe it best. There's no one more suited."

"Lupin could tell him!" Molly shrieked. "Albus, we can't possibly be risking this-"

" _Lupin_ is not his godfather," Sirius forcefully said. "I am. I'm his damn guardian. And I'm breaking this to him. If you all want to fight me on this, by all means, do, I've got all the time."

"Hold your horses," Tonks spoke coolly from beside Mad-Eye Moody. "Molly has a point."

"Dumbledore," Sirius turned to the old man.

"We've discussed this," spoke Dumbledore. "I believe it best that Sirius break this news to Harry. He's leaving afterwards for a time to, ah, disappear."

"Does Potter even need to know?" asked that new recruit again. Everyone seemed stunned quiet by his questions.

"No, Vern," Tonks broke the silence with a sigh. "Let's keep you in the dark about your dead dad being alive all of a sudden, see how you feel."

"I mean-"

"James wants to," Dumbledore said.

"You don't get everything you want," scoffed Vern. "This is war. We have to think about the bigger picture other than ourselves. I don't mean to be a twat but-"

Sirius glanced at James and recoiled inside by the silent murderous expression taking over James's face. He almost felt sorry for Vern.

"You're really not going down in my good books, shitface," James stared at the young man. "I'll answer your question," he folded his hands into his laps. He really, really needed that smoke right now. "Let's make this clear; I am not on anyone's side until I have my son back. Clear enough for you? Do you really want to piss off a dead man walking?"

"Look, mate, all I'm saying-"

"Let's move on," Alastor Moody raised his voice, having enough of the conversation. "So Black's meeting with Potter but we still need someone to keep an eye on the kid till he does. Fletcher, you're on duty. That's the end of it. I don't give a damn, disguise yourself. End of discussion- move on."

James relaxed in his seat and stared darkly at the tabletop. The insistent throb in his head wouldn't cease, and it was making him restless. He needed that damn cigarette or he needed someone to knock him out senseless.

After the meeting was over, Molly Weasley hung back a little while everyone dispatched for the evening, and she approached James hesitantly. James really wanted to be polite, especially because the woman seemed to know and care for his son, but that smoke just wouldn't get off his mind.

"Mr Potter, I'm Molly Weasley," she introduced herself and her husband shortly joined them. "My son Ronald is Harry's best friend at school."

"Pleasure to meet you, and please- call me James," he shook her hand and then Arthur Weasley's with his best attempt at a smile. "Sirius tells me you've looked after Harry the past years. I'm incredibly grateful to both of you- I don't know however to repay you."

"Oh, it's nothing," Molly's face flushed red in embarrassment. "Harry's such a sweet boy. We see him as one of our own."

"I'm glad," he said to them both.

"We both respect you greatly, James," Arthur spoke as the last of the Order trickled out. Remus picked up his cloak and gave James a short wave before he too disappeared into the dark hallway where Sirius was shutting up his mother's portrait after Tonks knocked the umbrella stand –again. "You and Harry's mother are such an inspiring couple, it's a tragedy what happened to you."

James felt the air in his chest knocked out at the mention of Lily. His lips tightened and pursed together. He tried to smile, but couldn't.

"I- we just want to offer any help you might need," Molly rushed. "Looking after a boy Harry's age is very tasking. We would like to offer any help we can give. So if there's anything you need- don't hesitate. Harry's such a dear boy to us."

"Thank you," he breathed, relieved that the subject had quickly moved to the point. "A lot. I'm grateful."

Molly gave him a smile before she turned and left, soon followed by her husband who bade James a good evening.

"You all right?" Sirius came bounding back into the room, seeming more awake than he'd been before. "James?"

"Yeah," he nodded faintly. "Actually- no. I need a cigarette."

"Sorry, mate," Sirius didn't look at all that sorry. "Can't go out and get you one. Too risky."

"You just don't want me to smoke," James accused him. The older man shrugged. "You know what happens when you take them away from me."

Sirius held up his hands. "I'm not taking anything away from you. I'm the victim here, too. I'm imprisoned in this house."

"Sirius," James stalked towards him with a maddened gleam in his eyes. "If I find that you've been hiding a smoke here from me, you'll wish I was still dead."

"Nah, mate. 'Sall good. Haven't taken or hidden anything."

"And if you know where I might find some and you won't say, that also applies."

"Of course I know where you might find some," Sirius spluttered indignantly. "I'm telling you, I just can't get any for you."

"You don't want to."

"Same thing."

"They're not."

"In this case, they are."

James held Sirius's eyes in a staring contest neither of them backed down from. James was too deprived and Sirius too stubborn and bold for his own good.

"Look, I'd do this all night long, but I got a letter for Harry to write that needs to get to Hogwarts fast."

"Then look away."

"You first."

"No way. You're in a hurry."

"I'm not."

"Neither am I."

"If you don't look away now I won't write that letter to Harry in time, and I won't meet him. Then you won't meet your kid, Prongs. Think about what you're doing."

"You promised."

"I did. So look away."

"In your dreams."

They continued stubbornly staring at one another until Sirius sighed. "We'll look away together, all right?"

"I know you too well."

"For-!"

"What are you two doing?"

Remus stepping back into the room made them both snap their gazes at once to the man whose gaze flickered from one to the other.

"I forgot my... Nevermind. Goodnight."

"Remus- wait. Hold on! I need a smoke- please!" James bounded after the man. "Please."

"No," Remus shook his head. "Never."

"Moony, please. I'm actually begging you. Please."

"No," Remus replied calmly, gave a wave and ducked out of the house, leaving James standing in the dark hallway with trembling hands clenched into tight fists. The man huffed a sigh into the stuffed hallway and told himself, without aim, that he didn't need one anyway; that he was stronger than his urges, no matter how much his very blood craved the chemical.

"Heard chewing gum's good for quitting," Sirius's cheerful voice escaped the room the meeting was held in.

James huffed again and snapped over his shoulder; "I'm _not_ quitting."

"You could at least lie to yourself and me about it, mate. You're not even trying."

________________________________________________________________

  
The day Sirius was to leave his abhorred house to meet Harry was the day he departed from the country to draw away attention and unfriendly eyes away from London; it was still a painful dilemma what was to be done in regards to James' unprecedented situation and it was agreed upon that it was safest for now that neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters knew about James while he was still recovering.

But the risk to inform Harry about his father's current status was great and a calculated one at that seeing as the things Harry knew, Voldemort seemed to be at liberty of finding out. Still, James had pointed out to the Headmaster, there were many things Harry knew that Voldemort didn't seem to be aware of and that the impossible feat of James being alive after surely being killed was sure to be regarded by the dark wizard as a fanatic's hope should he ever realise the connection between them and choose to sniff around Harry's thoughts. 

Sooner or later anyways Voldemort was going to find out, and whether it was through Harry's thoughts, his spy's information or by James's wand at his throat, it didn't make much of a difference save that James wouldn't be there to feel the surge of satisfaction when the dark wizard would realise that he'd been impossibly trumped yet again.

The general idea was that Sirius would wear a disguise, but not one that would make him holly unrecognizable, and allow his face to be seen out of the country several times in different locations; enough for the attention of Voldemort and his followers to turn to that hidden plan and have eyes focused on the far horizon rather than what was happening beneath their noses.

Separating from his best friend after so many years apart and a death between them had made Sirius hesitate many, many times, but in the end, when he thought long and hard about it, it was the safest way James could reunite with his son and Harry with that piece of himself that he'd been robbed of. If he could ensure that by his departing, give his godson a ray of joy and hope that could essentially reprogram the boy's miserable attitude, he was willing to do so wholeheartedly. Besides, becoming useful again and being free was too alluring to resist.

His disguise was him cleaning up.

As hilarious as it sounded, to his ears and James', he was very aware of how unrecognisable he was now compared to his previous glory. Back in the day Sirius wouldn't be caught dead with hair as matted and disturbed as it was now, nor look this unkempt and ragged- his vanity had known no boundaries as a special woman liked to teasingly tell him and personal appearance was very important to him.

First, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom's mirror, he really needed to do something about that hair...

_

James was lounging in Sirius's room while the man cleaned up in the bathroom, idly flicking through a History of Magic textbook that used to drive him off the cliff back in Hogwarts. It was good to know that it still did, almost twenty years later. He was sat on the ground, flicking through worn down pages, wondering why the hell Sirius had it still when it occurred to him that it was probably left behind by him when he ran away from this abysmal house.

The bored man snapped the hardcover shut and flung it across from him. It slid across the wood panels under the dresser where he couldn't be bothered to retrieve it and stayed there; he looked up around him at the furniture, internally cringing at the obnoxious designs before he remembered that his own childhood room wasn't so better than Sirius's in term of obnoxious designs. Snorting, he slid open the nearest drawer his fingers could wrap around the handle of, and mindlessly went through the objects in it.

His lips tugged upwards despite himself when he saw the twin mirrors, old warm tinted memories brought from his mind that accompanied the sight of the dirty surfaces. They'd been proper rascals, hadn't they? So insufferable and self-centred that they couldn't even be bothered to be separated from each other without the exchange of demonic thoughts for two hours.

To be fair, their detentions had been over two hours more often than not.

There were folded parchments in the drawer that caught James's attention when he further looked and piqued his interest. It became apparent they were a series of corresponding letters, their answering sisters somewhere scattered all over the world, and after shuffling quickly through them (letters from now-dead people; that explained their presence that didn't match the supposed timeline of Sirius's presence in the house) one letter particularly caught James's interest and made him linger on it.

A letter from his dead wife.

It was hard to grasp the notion that the warm hand that had glided over the surface of this yellowed parchment was now stiff and cold six feet underground, so James pushed it out of his mind before the tears could choke him. Her g's were a familiar heart-breaking sight, and her words were a microphone that transmitted her voice across time to his ears.

It broke his heart that the events she described he'd lived with her every second- mourning Marlene's death, throwing away that vase in celebration, chasing Harry as the boy had flown around the house, laughing his head off with her, their boy's quiet birthday tea. _He_ 'd been there, had lived it with her, and had spent the seconds with her, so unaware of the fate about to kick down their front door. So why? Why had she perished while he survived- it wasn't supposed to be this way.

His eyes latched onto the attached photograph, his eyes immediately warming when her laughing face registered in his head. He was chasing Harry as he flew on his first broomstick, frantic that the boy would fall or break something (his head, for one) and she'd sat there on the floor laughing her head off as he did. She looked so alive, content, happy and warm. He remembered cornering her about why she hadn't risen to help him keep their son safe and she'd shrugged, not an inch of guilt or regret, and said he had James's blood- flying spectacularly was part of their heritage and he remembered now how bright her vibrant green eyes were; how they seemed to smile, were proud and how they seemed to trust him. He hadn't caught onto it then, but thinking back on it, her eyes seemed to say _I trust you with him to keep him safe._

Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them away rapidly, jerking like a startled cat when the bathroom door clicked open and Sirius stepped out.

"Well?" the man asked when James said nothing.

James smiled truly for the first time. "You're exactly as I remember you."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hungry for the kill,**_  
 _ **But this hunger, it isn't you.**_  
 _ **I will be the wolf,**_  
 _ **And when you're starving, you'll need it too**_  
________________________________________________________________

  
The man Harry looked for and the one he found wasn't his godfather.

Soon as his meeting with the other students was wrapped up as a wonderful success that left his heart lighter than it was since the school year had started, he had excused himself from his companions (Hermione had shot him a murderous bitter look and Harry would have wholeheartedly believed she would rat him out to Professor McGonagall – _again_ \- were it not for Ron rolling his eyes at her and keeping a firm hand on her shoulder, telling Harry to go) and wandered around Hogsmead, keeping up appearances that he was enjoying his time wandering around and shopping. It soon became difficult when only a madman would be out in this cold walking without a goal, and he soon dropped the pretence, almost running out of the village to the outskirts, searching for that familiar big black dog.

He found him easily enough and led Harry a far distance away from Hogsmead, prompting Harry's frantic mind to wonder what could be so important to bring his godfather out of his safe house and terrified that what he had in mind would be true.

The dog stopped at the slopes of a hill where Hogsmead was seen well enough from the high ground and switched into its human form.

Harry yelped and leapt back a good foot back, his hand immediately going to his wand as his heart thundered in his chest at the sight of the stranger- this was it, he was done for. It was a trap, he was going to die-

"S- _Sirius?!_ "

The man Harry got and his godfather was not the same person. That, he was a hundred per cent sure of. However, the man he got and the man in the photo album and pictures were horribly alike.

"Good, yeah?" Sirius grinned toothily.

He was unrecognizable; rather than a weary man in his mid-thirties, there was a young-looking man who barely looked in his twenties. Sirius's long mane of hair was cropped very short; his previously bushy and rich beard was trimmed carefully into short spikes of hair and a faint whiskery beard; the face once lined with weary age that made him look beyond his years was smooth and free of any marks and his attire was wholly different- it was muggle for one: a dark leather jacket, a maroon sweater, black jeans and equally black thick boots. Sirius's grin was something of a new plant Harry hadn't ever seen before in person.

But the most prominent thing that transformed his whole appearance was his eyes- it was insane, that light, that gleam; like they'd been sleeping and suddenly startled awake. Sirius was alive with something Harry was missing out on, and he needed to know what it was that could transform his godfather so.

"What..?" Harry's voice broke off. He had so many questions buzzing in his head, begging to be voiced and the first one that escaped his lips was; "Why?"

Sirius's wide easy grin loosened for a bit and one hand escaped the pockets of his leather jacket to touch Harry's biceps. "I'm going away for a while," he said delicately and Harry's heart dropped. Ron was right- Sirius was going away. Leaving Harry behind. Leaving Harry to worry and fret and-

"Why?" again Harry asked, and his voice choked on his tangle of emotions. Sirius's alive state gladdened Harry beyond any trace of a doubt and he was happy Sirius wasn't that brooding and dark version of himself, and if going away did this... It tore Harry's heart in two; between wanting his godfather close by and wanting his godfather to be at peace. Between being selfish and selfless, yet again.

"I don't want to," Sirius told him and gestured to a rock protruding from the hill. One wave of his hand cleared the snow off the surface and he sat, Harry following suit. "But I have to."

"Does it have anything to do with why you were at Hogwarts?"

Sirius's smile returned and he nodded. "Something... Amazing happened. Impossible, but remarkable. I can say it's the best thing to happen yet."

"What?"

Sirius looked contemplative and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips before voicing his words carefully. "You won't be needing me anymore as much," his dark eyes looked earnestly into Harry's own.

"I always need you."

That smile again. "I'm not supposed to tell you everything-"

" _Why?!_ "

"You'll understand soon," his godfather took his arm, brow furrowed and concerned. "I know it's frustrating beyond anything, and you deserve to know- I really believe that, but I still want you to walk that line carefully. It's... easy to get ahead of yourself, ahead of your years in a time like this and I know you're not like anyone else, but as your guardi- as your godfather and someone who cares about you, I want to keep the weight of _this-"_ he gestured a hand around them, "-from falling completely on you and making you something you don't have to be. You're not alone, no matter how much you think so. As long as I'm alive, I want to take all the heat. I've sworn to do that the day you were born and-" he stopped himself suddenly "I need you to know that; to know you're not as alone as you think, do you get me, Harry?"

Harry numbly nodded.

Sirius took his other hand in his own, looking down at their joined limbs before he seemed to steel himself and meet Harry's gaze with a sincere look in his eyes. "Harry... When you saw us in the hospital wing, we were there because Dumbledore brought us and I couldn't believe myself, but it was your Dad, Harry. It was James."

Thinking it and hearing it aloud was not the same thing, Harry soon found out.

"What?" he whispered softly.

Sirius tightened his grip on Harry and his smile was wide, but also watery. "It's something in the Potter blood, apparently," he said shakily. "He's alive. I don't know how –no one does- but he is. He survived the Killing Curse the way you did. He's really alive, Harry."

"But-but..."

"He took his bloody time letting us know," Sirius gave a poor excuse of a laugh. "But fourteen years later and he's alive."

"Couldn't it be an imposter?" Harry's mouth was dry. He had to lay down all his doubts immediately and let go of them.

Sirius shook his head. "I made sure myself. I don't care about Dumbledore's word for it, but it's him. I wouldn't dream of doing this to you if I wasn't so sure."

"How could you be?" asked Harry softly, Alastor Moody and Barty Crouch on his mind. The Death Eater had fooled Dumbledore and the whole world for the better part of a year. The timing was too convenient for his Dad to just open his eyes and declare himself alive.

"When you know someone the way I have him," answered Sirius in a responding fond tone. "There are things even the strongest magic couldn't manipulate. I know him better than anyone, and I've never forgotten anything, things only privy to us."

"Memories could-" Harry's wild mind thought of preserved memories in Pensives.

"You'll understand later," intervened Sirius gently. "It's... not just memories you share. Something more. It's really him."

Wind knocked out of his chest, Harry looked away and blinked away tears pricking his eyes. "Map never lies," he echoed.

"Map never lies," Sirius repeated with a too-fond look in his eyes. "You know I'd never lie to you, Harry."

"Yeah," he nodded. "No, I know. When- When can I see... him?"

"I really don't know," was the truthful reply. Harry snapped outraged eyes to his godfather. "It's why I'm going away," he explained quickly. "To draw attention away from here. It would interest Voldemort to know what I'm doing abroad, and it'd make it safer for you to meet him. James really can't wait; you're the only one he's thinking about."

The thought that Harry was someone's sole caring thoughts warmed his insides and that the person was _his father_...

"Why can't I meet him? I mean, I won't tell anyone, or-"

"I really can't tell you, Harry," Sirius looked remorseful. "But it'll be soon, once Voldemort is distracted. I can tell you that."

Suddenly, Harry felt hesitant. "I... I want you to be with me," he quietly expressed. "When I meet him."

"I wish. But Remus will be with you. It's all right that you're nervous and even a little scared. It's understandable."

Harry nodded, the bite he'd taken bigger than he could chew still. Then he was struck with the characteristic worry about his godfather. "But you'd be in danger. What if you got caught? What if the Ministry or Voldemort caught you? You can't die on me, not now."

"Kid," Sirius's grin was back as he scoffed and it was tinted with a new spice; easy confidence. "The Ministry could set its whole batch of employees after me and they'd never get to glimpse me if I wanted to."

"But Voldemort-"

"Voldemort can try," nodded Sirius promisingly and the bravery of his thoughts and confidence instilled something steady in Harry. Awe and wonder graced his heart as this man who called himself his godfather flaunted his new cards- did his Dad really bring this back? "But he'll be sprouting ducks out his wand again if he gets lucky enough to corner me."

"Are you- wait, _'ducks'_? _'Again'_?" stammered Harry. "What are you-?"

But Sirius tipped his head back and laughed freely. It was a fresh new sound that made Harry wonder what else about his godfather he had missed out on and was now seeing thanks to his father.

His father.

"That's a story for another time," Sirius got to his feet, pulling Harry with him. "But I have to go now; make sure eyes are away from the princess. You won't miss me," he pulled Harry into a warm hug. He was wrong- so, so wrong.

"I'll always miss you," said Harry quietly, hugging him back. There was a constricting clot in his throat clogging it up that made breathing harder. He always would, no matter what.

Sirius gave him one final squeeze before stepping back, just as he made to walk away to Apparate, Harry stopped him one final time with a heavy question on his lips.

"Wait! What about Mum?"

Sirius didn't have to say anything to answer that question; the more familiar sadder look in his eyes spoke volumes.

________________________________________________________________

  
Since the plan was for Sirius to meet Harry and then depart, James had no idea how the meeting went and could only hope Sirius had managed to explain properly. There was another meeting to be held that night where Mundungus would give in his report, and it was bound to be different without Sirius present next to him.

In hindsight, it might have been for the best because it wasn't guaranteed for Sirius to hold his tongue and behave in a civil way.

When James heard the first of the Order coming in the house, he abandoned his task of menially going through the items in his room for things to throw away as Sirius had suggested, and trotted rhythmically down the stairs and quieted once he approached Walburga Black's portrait. Tonks had just come in and was about to trip over the umbrella stand before he steadied her and the pair avoided any tripping or temper tantrums.

"Wotcher, James. Thanks," she said perkily, her hair an impressive shade of turquoise blue and her nose hooked that day.

"Anytime," he replied, joining her in the hallway to the meeting room. "Nice day at the Ministry?"

"Oh the usual," she said offhandedly. "Department in an uproar over the sighting of the mass murderer Black. Bet he loves that."

"Sirius lived for two things; a good laugh and attention. Sometimes I used to annoy him by ignoring him- it would drive him up the wall. Nothing gets under his skin than letting him know that a History of Magic textbook is more interesting than him."

Tonks laughed and a smile twitched James's lips. As they made to step in the room where some had already gathered, the front door opened and a cloaked wizard stepped in, shutting the door behind him with a gentle snap.

The man at the front door lowered his hood, revealing pitch-black hair and a hooked nose but it was the pitch-black eyes James stared quietly at, a churning mass of something in his stomach.

Snape met his gaze across the hall and he froze, his face going impressively white and his lips tightening. James stared at the Death Eater silently, his arms shaking and he was glad that his hands were in his pockets, well away from his wand.

"James?" Tonks doubled back when he didn't follow her into the room. She looked from him to Snape and her mouth formed a silent 'o'. "Oh..."

The man who'd set Voldemort after them – _how the fuck did he know that?_ He did. He'd seen it, seen Trelawney's interview, seen the eavesdropper, seen Snape tell Voldemort- the one who forced his family into hiding, had cost Lily her life, him his own too, Harry his parents' presence, and everyone else what was wrong with them. Maybe it wasn't fair to lay all the blame on one man; that it was all an accumulation of actions that set of the sequence of events but it was no false to say that Snape spilling the prophecy to Voldemort was the avalanche of their tragedy.

James had once promised Lily he'd lay off the prick, a long time ago he had promised to not hex him whenever he glimpsed him- He'd promised he'd become a better man. But she wasn't here, was she? _He_ had taken her away.

Snape's face contorted into one of silent fury and it pissed James off to Heavens high. He-He had the nerve, the _nerve_ , to come here into this house, and redeem himself as their spy- _their spy.­_ He had the nerve to join the people he'd made their lives a living hell. How many people had perished by the hands of the maniac he worshipped and followed?

"James," Tonks gripped his thin forearm tightly when his jaw clenched and his shoulder jerked.

He breathed sharply through his nose and exhaled and remembered the time he was hospitalized in St Mungos for a week because of the prick and thought about how good he'd gotten him in return the first time they defied Voldemort.

James blinked and shook his head then met Tonks's steady gaze and smiled tightly. "I hope Molly's brought her biscuits," he said lightly and walked into the room, Tonks following suit. "God, I miss tea."

That night, James learned more about his son's character and he was pleasantly surprised; Sirius had told him about the brave young man James had for a son: he was daring, brave, loyal and strong-headed with a tendency to have trouble follow him around but it was one thing to be told about the things his son had accomplished and the things he'd seen and it was a completely different thing to witness it unfolding before his eyes.

He was planning a duelling club to teach students how to defend themselves and was going against the Ministry's wishes doing so. _Dumbledore's Army_ indeed. While Molly went into a frenzy fit about their doing so, James struggled between agreeing with her and feeling proud.

"I guess it can't hurt," he piped up with his opinion when Molly took a moment to breathe. Eyes swivelled to him and Remus, who sat beside him, bobbed his head thoughtfully. "It can't hurt to know a few spells to protect themselves. If it helps them sleep at night, why not?"

"They could hurt themselves," noted Molly.

"From what I know, Harry's good at Defense," James glanced at Remus who nodded affirmatively. "And I don't suppose he'd teach the kids anything dangerous. Maybe Stunning Spells and Disarming ones. What's the harm in that? Only useful things, and if they've helped Harry in tight spots and saved his life, why shouldn't the other kids have that? I don't see the problem with it."

"It's more about the idea accompanying it," Remus shared slowly. "It's against Ministry Decrees, and with Umbridge breathing down their necks, she'd love nothing more than to expel them. And the fact that if Fudge found out about this, he'd probably shut down Hogwarts for good."

"That bad? I mean, it really is a duelling club basically," Tonks said sceptically.

Remus looked thoughtfully at her. "He'd take any chance he can get to uproot Dumbledore and assume complete control over the school. That's the last thing we need. Maybe it's best if they don't do this..."

James leaned back in his seat. "As long as they don't hurt themselves or anyone else, what's the harm? They just have to avoid being caught. And I guess that if they're smart enough to think of starting this, they're smart enough to avoid being caught."

"Not everyone is so talented at avoiding capture, James," Remus said with a raised eyebrow.

"No, Remus," replied James complacently with a smirk twitching his lips and his eyes met Snape's scathing black ones. "That's your department, Prefect." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know Sirius's attire isn't accurate for that timeline and so bold of you to assume that something so fickle as time would stand in the way of Sirius Black dressing handsomely.
> 
> And if you think that watching The Punisher twice is what pushed me to publish this story in the first place because Ben Barnes was unbelievable as Billy Russo, you would also be correct. "'Spot on!' as they say in London society."
> 
> Was anyone else charmed by Ben's accent in The Punisher?
> 
> Also, as you will soon notice, I live for BAMF!Sirius and BAMF!James and really, BAMF!everyone. So expect a lot of badassery.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top of the morning to you all. Here's a new update. I'm not arrogant enough to think it might be a tear-jerker, but it has the potential. Personally I teared up myself. Hit me with the comments and your feelings, I love reading them.

**_And it's breaking over me_ **   
**_A thousand miles down to the sea bed_ **   
**_Found the place to rest my head_ **   
**_Never let me go_ **   
  


Two days following Sirius’s departure, James was coming to his wit’s end.

Remus was excellent company in the soulless house; James honestly didn’t know what would have happened to him if Remus wasn’t living in the same house every day when he wasn’t going on missions, and was wholly grateful for him being there, but there were only so many conversations he could have with his brother before he’d start losing his remaining sanity. And without a cigarette. And without his son. Life was not so alluring to James in the moment, and nor was it making up for all the inconveniences it was making for him.

His current predicament was not at all favourable, seeing as his physical performance was well below average.

James was used to running his emotions and working out all the frustrations in his thoughts; he was an athlete first and foremost –how he had fit in the smoking habit in with it failed to grace him- but this, this skeleton for a body he was dealing with was not at all up to expectations. James could hardly climb the stairs and not need a breather after anymore; the simplest of what used to be mindless tasks were now strenuous and left him winded.

“Never thought I’d ever see the day where you’re winded from climbing a set of stairs, Prongs,” Remus noted thoughtfully as James recovered on the landing. “Usually that’s my department- the exhaustion, but you’re taking my title. You’re out of shape.”

“Wow, that escaped me,” James replied, straightening up. It really was embarrassing and he needed to do something about it. “Got any miraculous solutions for me?”

Remus snorted. “If there were I’d have taken it ages ago, but I’ll look. You should start working your muscles again, in the meantime.”

James looked around the landing of the third floor thoughtfully. “Maybe if I found the space. It’s cramped in here. Not ideal for anything, really.”

Remus tapped long fingers on the doorframe of his room. “Start simple, then we’ll sign you up with a Muggle gymnasium. But first, stop looking like a corpse.”

“It had never occurred to me,” James rolled his eyes, casting a loathsome look at his bony hand and his protruding wrist. “Six years of training gone to waste. Now I have to start all over.”

“Yes, poor you,” Remus leaned against the doorframe. “Spoken to Dumbledore?”

“About?”

“Harry, renouncing your death certificate at the Ministry, integrating yourself back into real life?” began Remus. “Just to name a few.”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow,” said James stretching a bony arm as he talked; Remus had forgotten James’s habit of stretching and working whatever muscle he could whilst he was in deep thought or conversation. It was one of the simplest things like this that cemented Remus’s belief and happiness- simple, mindless ticks of James that no imposter could imitate that made Remus smile. “Harry.”

“Here?”

James nodded. “Dumbledore said he could stay the night if he wanted- as long as no one misses him. His friends will cover for him. Ron and… Hermione?”

Remus nodded. “They’re good kids,” he told his friend. “They remind me of us sometimes, but better, somehow. What we probably could have been if you’d strip away the madness of our lives.”

James grunted in response, and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “I’m nervous,” he admitted, tugging at his fringe that reached well to his nose. For a moment, his hazel eyes crossed as he looked at the long hair before he shoved it back up his head. He met Remus’s gaze, inhaling deeply and holding it in. He reminded Remus of a man gearing up before a fight- he looked the same on his wedding day.

“I understand,” said Remus after a few moments of silence. “The last time you’ve seen him he was a baby. Now he’s all grown up. It’s understandable.”

James hesitated in voicing some of his thoughts but decided to let some through. “Some moments I’m hit with this emptiness when I think about him. I don’t feel much when I take the time and consider all the time that’s passed. And then, I get so anxious about seeing him that it takes everything in me not to run all the way to Hogwarts. There is this… this _grief_ that hits me and I can’t- breathe because I just want my son in my sights and I want him safe and I forget he’s a man and he doesn’t even know me.”

James’s voice cracked as he spoke, but it carried on. Remus found himself focused on his eyes: they had been lifeless the first he’d seen them again, and slowly something came back to them: madness or clarity, the werewolf would not be able to know. And it shone brightly in James’s tired eyes, tugging on Remus’s heart. He was reminded of a similar conversation they’d had while Harry was a newborn, and similar anxiety had been expressed to Remus. Hearing it again, as anguished it made James, was yet another comfort Remus took in wrapping his head around the situation (James was _alive_.) so he searched for the words he’d once said to James.

“I’ve personally known Harry a short time, as ashamed as I am of it, but I’ve gotten to know him fairly well,” Remus recalled the nights Harry had spent in his office learning the Patronus Charm. “He has always thought of you. He’s carried you with him wherever he went, inside and outside and on the centre of what he is. He’s looked for you in every magical thing, in every new wonder he discovers. I think there will not be a single soul alive on God’s green earth that will be as happy as he is when he meets you again.”

James looked away, pulling his fingers.

“You gave him strength,” said Remus softly. “Lily’s love protected Harry. Yours keeps him going- your sacrifice, your selfless love that night. Ask him what he thought of in my office when he was casting the Patronus Charm. He’s never forgotten about you. You’re his immediate thought.”

James shudderingly inhaled, and nodded. Remus regarded his appearance critically, and thought James looked poorly like the man Harry would know in the pictures.

“You look more alive now than you did at first,” noted Remus. “That’s good.”

“Moony,” James stretched his arms, a determined streak in his expression. “I need you to give me a haircut.”

Remus smiled.

____________

Harry stared at his reflection, his hand rising to flatten his hair over his head for the tenth time. His eyes caught the reflection in the mirror of his hand; it was shaking so he tucked it away in his robes. Since being pulled aside after Transfiguration by Professor McGonagall and told that this Friday he’ll be allowed to finally meet his father he had barely stopped shaking. Though Sirius’s word was all the confirmation he needed, the careful hushed way everyone who knew dealt with it made everything more real. McGonagall hadn’t even named his father, just vaguely spoke to him and gave him a secretive small smile.

He was going to leave the school normally. A story was crafted about his aunt falling incredibly ill and his need to be with her before her inevitable unfortunate death- thank goodness no one at the school knew how far from the truth that was. Harry would saw his own hand off before insisting to be with his Aunt Petunia and if she was fatally ill then really, he wasn’t about to care when he would receive none in turn. But it warranted a good enough story to earn Dumbledore’s official permission to make things legal.

Though the schoolwork that would need attention during the weekend he will miss was going to prove to be a sore thumb, Hermione promised to help as much as she could (which was no small thing. Hermione’s bread crumbs of help were what helped Harry pass sometimes) and had insisted he still take his homework with him. Ron insisted she was mad.

Harry sat on his bed in the empty dormitory while everyone was at dinner, nervously watching his wristwatch, waiting for the short handle to reach 8. A churning mass stirred in his stomach that made the idea of not going through with his grow in his head. For a moment, Harry suddenly preferred postponing meeting his father. What would he say when he saw him? What would James see in his boy? Would Harry fall short of the expectations James had of a great son, the Boy Who Lived? Would James want him when he saw Harry for what he saw: a scrawny thin disappointing fraud whose fame was earned because of others?

The door swung open and in stepped Ron. Harry felt his heart tremble in his chest and bile rise in his throat. Ron smiled at him, wide and easy and supportive. “Come on then.”

Harry stood, picking up the backpack on the floor he had of his possessions and shouldering it. As he did he met Ron’s eyes, his friend offering a steady gaze. Being a prefect, Ron would be the one to escort him off the grounds to the gates. Harry was grateful.

For a heavy tense moment, Harry stood with his feet rooted to the spot. Ron pushed the door open. “Hope he’s not a snorer.”

A choked laugh escaped Harry as the confounding spell over him broke and his uneasiness dissolved. He followed Ron through the corridors, finding no words to speak as his heart raced faster with every step he took.

He’d taken a day to tell his friends what Sirius had told him. Harry had stayed locked up in the dormitory the following day, looking at the pictures in his photo album, and revealing nothing of what he’d been told. Eventually he found the courage to say the words to his friends. Hermione, after asking if he was sure, teared up and smiled happily at him, the words “I’m so happy for you” falling from her lips as she embraced him. Ron grinned at him, clasping his shoulder, his eyes bright. “That’s amazing, mate.”

Harry followed him out of the school, Ron occasionally making a few comments that Harry couldn’t find any response to. Remus was standing still at the other side of the gate, hands in his pockets. Harry would Side-Apparate with him, according to McGonagall. When they stopped at the gate, Ron smiled at him.

“Thanks,” mumbled Harry, rubbing his neck, avoiding his eyes.

“Good luck,” Ron patted his shoulder and watched Harry open the gates, step through them and make his way to Remus. When Harry looked back, Ron was walking away.

“Hey, Harry,” said Remus easily, his eyes as kind as they always were.

“Hi,” Harry exhaled sharply. “Thanks for doing this, Professor Lupin.”

“Perhaps avoid calling me that in front of your father,” suggested Remus. “I don’t think it’s sunk in for him yet. The jokes will never cease.”

Harry nodded, a jerky movement. Remus gestured to the path before them and began walking with Harry away from the school.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” said Harry, searching for something to say. “Sirius said Umbridge and Fudge have been pushing laws against you and making it impossible for you to live easily.”

Remus didn’t look as troubled as Harry would expect. In fact, much like Sirius, Harry’s old professor looked refreshed; eyes clear, face no longer lined with worry, grey hairs attributing less of an aged look to his young face and more of an aesthetic feature. Even his poorly clothes looked welcomed on him, as if he’d finally embraced them with the exception of the hardship they represented. Harry had this blooming feeling in his chest, pleasurable and warm, that things were being set to right. Harry’s godfather had smiled wider than he had since Harry met him, and Harry’s favorite professor (more of a friend, now, really) looked relieved of a few unfair burdens. Would Harry end up like that after tonight? Freed of worried not his to carry, granted a joy he’d been starved of?

“Yes,” Remus nodded, always the man of carefully chosen few words. “It’s always been that way, but she’s escalating it. It is rather hard. Sometimes I sympathize with my kind.”

“What happens to them? Are they wizards too?”

Remus shook his head. “No. They prefer to survive in packs, avoid people. I’ve yet to meet a magical one.”

“Have you met many?”

“Quite a few, yes I have,” his ex-professor strolled easily, shoulders backed. “Ah, here we are. I’ll answer all your questions later Harry. I suppose you’ll have many tonight.”

Remus stopped before Hogsmead, turning towards Harry. “Side-Apparation can be painful the first time and unsettling. Hold onto my arm tightly. You might feel nauseous later. It’s all quite right.”

He held out his arm and Harry grasped his forearm, puzzled as he waited for Remus’s next move which was to take his wand out. Remus moved, Harry felt his arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then-

He was standing on a pavement, doubling over and gasping for breath, clutching his knees tightly as he inhaled and exhaled heavily, his head dizzy. It had felt like being forced through the tightest of rubber tubes. He felt Remus’s hand on his shoulder.

“First time is always uneasy,” Remus assured him as Harry fought off a nauseating feeling. “Most people vomit.”

After a few moments, Harry straightened hesitantly. He blinked, looking around him: they were on the street of Grimmauld Place, Sirius’s house. He picked his bag from the floor, shouldering it and swallowing difficultly. He met Remus’s eyes and nodded.

“I’m fine.”

This time, Harry found the missing house at once. Number 12 was there, it did not have to emerge like it had in the summer. He hastily followed Remus up the front stairs and inside the dark front hallway. It had hardly changed from the summer: it was still dark and had a hushed atmosphere about it. It seemed to fit the mood appropriately for a man risen from the dead. Remus gently closed the door behind him and gestured Harry to go down the hall.

“I’ve been staying here when I’m not busy,” Remus informed Harry as they walked down the steps that led to the kitchen. Before he opened the door to the kitchen, Remus stopped and turned round, earnestly looking Harry in the eye.

“If you feel uncomfortable or worried, you need only gesture and I’ll take you back. James understands it’s difficult for you,” Oil lanterns flickered on the wall, illuminating Remus’s dead-set face. Harry knew he was a man of his word. “Harry, it’s alright. Anything you’re feeling. I am here to help you.”

Wetting his lower lip, Harry nodded. He was already uncomfortable, the suspense weighing down heavily on him, an unease stirring in his gut. Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus opened the door and stepped in, shortly after Harry followed.

The kitchen was alight and warm, the homely kind of warmth that washed over Harry the moment he set foot in it. It was clean, the cleanest part of the house, and in order. Harry’s immediate attention was at the man standing by the long table they had dined at all summer, right before Harry. He was tall of sorts, jet black hair standing all over his head, glasses perching on his nose with a set of hazel eyes behind them, his lips immediately stretching into a grin. Harry knew him, knew that man, not from his photos or from the Mirror of Erised or his dreams.

Harry surprised himself.

In a second that passed by in a flash, the boy leapt at the man, heart jumping in his throat, a chocked loud laugh escaping him past a wide grin and parted rows of teeth. In a second that rivalled the second that robbed Harry from his father, he was pressed against a bony chest and his arms wrapped around a torso that every fibre of him remembered. In a second, Harry had him back.

Thin arms wrapped around him tighter than the rubber tube he’d been forced through, a laugh was rumbling in that chest. Harry held on, still as a grassfield deprived of wind, his ear pressed against his father, eyes wide and bright and heart racing and thumping and screaming.

He heard a heartbeat in that embrace.

And then the storm broke upon them.

Harry didn’t know what sobs were whose, all that he was crying and shaking- why? There was no sorrow in his heart. There was nothing but empty space. He was trembling and his father was sobbing too and maybe Remus was crying too and maybe Mrs Black was raging in her portrait. Who knew. Time was frozen, Harry’s eyesight was blurred even with the aid of his glasses, hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, he was sure he was choking his dad with his hug but he couldn’t let go. The top of head grew damp, a head pressed against it, his father’s sobs breaking in his ears.

Harry remembered him.

A warm kitchen brightly lit, the smell of pancakes being made, a strong muscular arm seating him and a chest he was supported against, the smell of cologne and aftershave, a pair of aviator glasses, a laugh that shook the chest he leaned against, thick eyebrows, hazel earnest eyes, long nose. Bright smoke. Afternoon naps in the warmth of sunlight. A protective shield that kept him in a safe environment.

He remembered him. His dad. Harry knew him, he’d just forgotten him.

Harry held on with everything he had, everything he ever was, he held on tight to this man who was the only thing he ever needed, held on tight and never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the response this story has gotten. It blew me away seeing as I was most certainly not expecting it. I'm very humbled and grateful.


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